Needing A Chance
by BravoExpressions
Summary: Part four in 'The Sam Saga' following Look to the Sky, The Girl You Are, and My Way Home. When young nephew Jesse is faced spending a week with Mary and Marshall, he is in for a world of surprises. Rated T out of habit for possible language.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: So, you all convinced me! When I completed the third in what I am now referring to as 'The Sam Saga' I received many comments wanting me to continue, and several that asked for something a little more Jesse-centric. I couldn't contain myself. I really thought the last one would be it, but how quickly a trilogy becomes a quad. ;)**

**So, what we've got here is indeed a fic focused around Jesse, age eleven; making Sam twelve. All the characters are the same, the back-story; that would be obvious I'd think. Although, since it is more centered on Mary's side of the family, there is less of Marshall's but rest assured they do exist. **

**Hopefully I still have you wonderful loyal reviewers on my side for another wild ride with the Mann-Shannon's, their parents, and in this case, their offspring. I hope Jesse lives up to his promise!**

XXX

May was perhaps Mary's very favorite month – if she had to choose. The breezes turned warm and comforting, losing the nip and chill they carried in March and April. But it came before June, which meant that the gusts were far from hot and dusty, the way they persisted during the summer months. She was able to leave her windows open, smell the freshly mown grass, even the buds on the newly-grown flowers.

May also brought the soothing thought that Sam was well on his way to finishing yet another year of school, and this time it was more of a triumph than ever. He was just thirty days away from completing his first two semesters in the sixth grade – his first in middle school with the perils of lockers, textbooks, and seven different teachers. Although sometimes, she wondered why she worried. He had thrived in his new environment, something he always did. She had been concerned that his intellect might hamper him with the older boys, but evidently he was charismatic enough to get away with it.

It was with all these thoughts and more that Mary stood at the counter in the kitchen one afternoon, downing a Diet Coke and mapping out possible locations for a new witness. As soon as she got him double-checked and his paperwork completed, she'd pass him off to a new inspector that had more time to spend in the field. Meanwhile, Marshall was on the couch working a complicated grid that might make it easier for those who saw what they shouldn't have to be spread out across the southwest.

"Do you think the grid itself implies that we aren't inconspicuous enough about where we're placing all these witnesses?" Marshall suddenly spoke up all hunched over the coffee table.

Mary flicked her eyes upward briefly, not really in the mood to cover logistics.

"I don't imagine you're going to be placing it in front of prying eyes," she responded quickly.

"I'm just saying," her husband continued. "Isn't there a better way to plot the new points without using the old tried-and-true pen and paper?"

"I wouldn't think an immortal like you would succumb to the lure of mechanisms like computers," Mary quipped, swallowing her Coke and circling a point for whichever Marshal ended up with her poor sap.

This, of course, was a feeble joke. Marshall spent over half his life on computers these days, not to mention his career. He was, for all intents and purposes, the brains of the greater southwest offices – filing systems, maps, charts, facts, figures. He was always coming up with a new idea to better the program. Mary had grown into the role of a sidekick, conferring on what needed to be conferred, bouncing suggestions from one end to the other. On occasion, the pair of them sat in with witnesses just like the old days but neither of them ventured into the field much anymore.

The price you paid for fearful sons and bullets to the abdomen.

"I'm just mapping it out until I can get it lined up," Marshall went on. "I'll transfer it all later."

"Then why are you worried?" Mary couldn't help wondering, hoping to quiet him so she could finish what she was doing.

It was then that the phone rang, furthering Mary's annoyance. She had hoped to complete the paperwork before Sam got off the bus, but she was lucky he was used to the old work-and-talk stand-by. Huffing and blowing her bangs out of her eyes, she snatched her cell and answered.

"Hello?" she sounded harassed.

"Hey Mare," it was Brandi.

"I have about six different things going on," the elder sister proclaimed, hoping to ward off a long discussion. She distinctly heard Marshall scoff in an amused sort of way and she was careful to scowl before otherwise ignoring him.

"Well, this isn't going to take long," Brandi went on. "But I need a favor."

"You know that phrase coming out of your mouth is always frightening," Mary informed her swiftly, knowing the role she was expected to play in situations like these.

"It's…kind of a big favor…" Brandi couldn't resist pointing out.

Mary knew she might be able to buy herself a few minutes while Brandi danced around the issue and immediately tuned out, continuing to read her file. She'd already forgotten this guy's name. Thomas? Timothy?

Meanwhile, Brandi was blathering incessantly about nothing that seemed very important yet.

"…She was pushing a shopping cart…"

Tanner, that was his name. Who would name their kid Tanner? Was he a blacksmith in his former life?

"…I guess she tripped and twisted…"

Mary wondered if Stan would object to putting this guy in Flagstaff. Although she was trying hard not to take advantage of her chief lately. He was up for retirement in June.

"…Her knee was pretty bad anyway, and now they think she needs replacement surgery…"

It was that word 'surgery' that sparked Mary's attention. It was right up there with 'blood loss' and 'sutures' and 'ventilator.' She'd become highly in tune to these types of words in the last four years.

"Wait-wait…" Mary interrupted, finally averting her eyes from the MOU. "Who needs a knee replacement? Who are we talking about?"

"Peter's mother!" Brandi definitely sounded irritated. "Dora. Good God Mary, were you listening at all?"

"I told you I was busy," Mary muttered, but she knew she should've paid more attention. "So okay…" she cut across quickly to avoid garnering too much blame from her baby sister. "Dora needs a knee replacement – sucks. Where's the favor come in? You're not suggesting I give her mine are you?"

"Like you'd ever be that generous," Brandi insulted, but she was chuckling slightly. "She's having surgery tomorrow, but Peter really wants to go out to the Caverns and help out. I guess Hal's pretty helpless without Dora…"

Mary still wasn't sure what this had to do with her and was just considering her formalities again when Brandi plowed on.

"It's like six hours down to Carlsbad and I don't know how long Peter wants to stay…" she sounded a little rehearsed now. "I really don't want to pull Jesse out of school; he's got all these tests to take because they're winding up the year."

_Now_ Mary got it.

"Do you think he could stay with you and Marshall?" she finally inquired. "I'm sure we'll be back by Monday, Mare."

It was Tuesday.

Mary really was no baby-sitter. Sure, Jesse had stayed with them on countless occasions but never for a whole week because Brandi and Peter lived about three miles away. She didn't know why she was so reluctant because her nephew was an easy, quiet kid with a very simplistic disposition. She wasn't exactly sure how to entertain him though, and her schedule was always up-in-the-air.

"Uh…" Mary's eyes found Marshall's and she motioned for him to come to the counter. He stood and joined her to listen. "I don't know, Squish. I should check with Marshall; he'll be here more than I will."

"What's up?" her husband whispered upon hearing this.

Mary covered the mouthpiece with her fingers, "Peter and Brandi want to trek to the Caverns to assist the ailing Nora…"

"_Dora_," Brandi breathed, but Mary ignored her.

"Don't want Jesse missing his education or some such crap like that…"

Fortunately, she didn't need to go on. There was a reason Marshall was touted the world's greatest uncle from here to Kansas.

"He can stay here; it's no problem," he insisted at once.

Such an agreeable, easygoing fellow. He and Jesse had always meshed quite well.

"Brandi?" Mary inquired, removing her nails from the keyboard.

"Yeah."

"Marshall says it's a go," the older Shannon reported.

Brandi was instantly gushing gratitude, something Mary definitely could've anticipated and also something she could absolutely block out as she got back to her work.

"Thank-you so much Mare – I really didn't want to drag him along – and I know he'll be happiest there with you," she decided.

Mary thought, vaguely, that this was an interesting way to put Jesse's feelings. She generally thought of him as a pretty mellow guy, somebody who just went with the flow, that whatever was uncomplicated would make him happy just by default. Unfortunately, Brandi shot down this thought with her next words.

"I feel kind of bad about leaving him…" the younger admitted, and this made Mary take pause.

"What?" she wrinkled her nose. "Don't be stupid. He's stayed with us plenty of times."

"I know…" Brandi said softly, but she sounded evasive and withholding. "I just…"

That tone in Brandi's voice never sat well with Mary, even all these years later, even so far beyond the times when Brandi might have reason to hide who she was or what she was doing. It was a reflex ingrained in Mary's skin to be suspicious of her sister when she got like this.

"Squish what?" she prompted. "Spit out," she stuck her hand on her hip and waited.

"Well…" Brandi said quietly. "I'm a little bit worried about him."

Now Mary abandoned the documents strewn about and reached for her Diet Coke, which she made sure was empty and tossed in the trashcan under the sink. Marshall wandered back into the living room, used to the way Mary spoke to Brandi, be it over the phone or in person.

"What's to be worried about?" Mary was casual, shoving the garbage behind the cabinet door with her foot. "He's a good kid."

"I'm not worried he's gonna start robbing banks, Mary."

That reference was a lot less funny than it should've been.

"He just seems…" Brandi was considering as Mary clamped the phone between her ear and her shoulder securing the trash bag, which was sticking out. "He just seems kind of lonely. And he does okay in school but sometimes he doesn't quite keep up with the other kids…"

"Brandi, we've been through this," Mary sighed, getting a better handle on her sister's fear now. "He's smart; he just takes his time."

"I don't know," Brandi didn't sound convinced as she pressed on. "Sometimes I think if Sam were still with him it'd be different."

This was an issue Mary had avoided like the plague. She had told herself time after time that once Sam went to middle school, Jesse might step out of his shadow and become a little more comfortable in his own skin, but it had-had the opposite effect, which she denied at every turn. It was becoming more and more apparent that without Sam, Jesse was a little lost, not really sure who he was. He maintained his sweet, sensitive personality and the littlest things seemed to please him but while Sam had flourished in the upper grades, Jesse had very clearly been left behind. And Mary knew, deep in her heart that Sam had never meant to shut him away but the natural progression of time had starting dividing the boys rather than uniting them.

"He'll find his own way Brandi," Mary cut in swiftly. "He and Sam still get along; there's nothing to worry about."

"I guess," Brandi was obviously starting to wish she hadn't pushed these thoughts to the forefront and moved on. "Maybe when he's staying with you guys they'll get to spend some more time together."

In the recesses of her mind, Mary hoped this as well.

"He'll be fine Squish," Mary wanted to wrap this up. "When are you guys leaving?"

"Tonight," she picked up the segue perfectly. "I'll pick Jesse up after school and bring him over before we head out."

"Sounds good," Mary approved. "See you later."

She hung up before Brandi could say goodbye. Meandering back to the counter, she set the cell beside everything she had spread out, but try as she might she couldn't quite concentrate once more, and she wasn't really sure why. She, Marshall, and Sam still saw Jesse all the time – on weekends, if no other frame. The boys never fought but, whatever she told Brandi, it had not escaped her notice that there were more differences than similarities these days. Although neither had changed drastically, it was those underlying distinctions that had always been there that were starting to become more prevalent. It was amazing how just a year in school could pull them apart; Sam would be thirteen in the fall and Jesse had just turned eleven.

"So…" Marshall was up again, venturing back to his wife. "Sounds like we're gonna have a houseguest."

"Yeah, sounds like it," Mary agreed. "Probably till Monday."

"It'll be good for the boys," Marshall persisted as though he'd been reading her mind. "They'll get to spend some time together."

"You and Brandi, you're like a pair of broken records," Mary didn't know why she said it with disdain, not meeting Marshall's eyes as she scratched her pencil across the paper.

Marshall waited patiently, letting her simmer down and succumb to the fears he knew were circling in her brain. If he just gave her a minute she'd come around and eventually, she put down her pencil and looked at him dead on. Even then, it took her a moment but Marshall's blue eyes had her spilling her guts just like always.

"How'd this happen to them?" she posed.

Marshall shrugged, "Nothing _happened_, Mare. They're just not as close as they were before. The innate chain of development often reveals our divergences and dissimilarities…"

"Brandi's concerned about him…" she cut through his intellectual babble as swiftly as she ever did.

"Jesse?" he inquired, and then figuring this must be it, "Yeah, I am too. I mean, it's unfortunate how the world doesn't value the eternally kind and gentle…"

"What about Sam?" Mary couldn't resist pointing out, splaying her hands on the counter and leaning forward. "He's, to use your words, kind and gentle but he doesn't have any problems…"

"He is," Marshall agreed. "And I'm glad because it's kept him from completely leaving Jesse in the dark, but he's also much more sure of who he is. His mother's made certain of that."

Mary felt a mixture of pride as well as sympathy at these words. She had honed Sam to be sweet and polite as well as steadfast, only one of which she could lay claim to. Regrettably, Brandi's logged years as a deadbeat who considered herself worthless seemed to have seeped over into her son, despite her efforts to change it. She didn't understand nature versus nurture sometimes.

"I guess," Mary shook her head, sounding like Brandi herself. "Maybe you're right. Maybe this will be good for them."

Marshall leaned over and gave her a quick kiss, reveling in her bout with humanity, in her compassion for her nephew.

"You know you're the world's coolest aunt," he declared, still stretching his neck to reach her.

Mary smirked and shoved him playfully in the chest.

"Now's no time for an afternoon romp, doofus," she grinned. "I got stuff to do."

**A/N: Obviously it's the start and I should say up-front that I hope I've got my timeline right! In writing, I mixed up my days of the week for future events and pray I managed to get them squared away correctly. Forgive me if there's a mistake later; I will do my best to catch it.**

**Thanks for all the prior feedback that spurred me to get this going! I love you guys!**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: I apologize profusely for not having updated last night. The doc manager was down – figures! Every other part of the site works fine except the most important. But regardless, I can't believe how many reviews you guys have so graciously given me already. I am humbled, and very pleased. Thanks so much for the kind words.**

XXX

Mary was in Sam's bedroom, fluffing his pillows and trying to figure out how to make space for a roommate, when she heard Brandi's car pull up out front. Unfortunately, her little rearrange didn't seem to be working and Sam, who was watching with a critical eye, didn't hesitate to point this out.

"Mom, there isn't room for both of us anymore," he claimed bluntly.

Try as she might to deny it, Mary knew he was right. How had the room gotten so small all of a sudden? It was more than large enough for just Sam, but Jesse used to sleep on the floor and the walls seemed to have closed in, the dresser and desk closer to the inner circle. The boys were bigger now and she didn't see Jesse being thrilled with being sandwiched between the bed and dresser, despite how easygoing he was.

"It's not like the room's gotten smaller," Mary said to Sam to avoid his being correct.

"I'll step on him if I have to get up to pee," he claimed, shooting her down completely.

"Go to the bathroom," she rectified, almost glad for the reason to scold him. "Don't say pee."

"_You_ say pee," he muttered disdainfully.

Mary rolled her eyes. He was so much like his father it scared her sometimes. Best at the lot and right about everything.

"Look, I really don't care if you say it," Mary admitted, tossing the extra pillows onto his bed to look at him dead-on. "But other people do and I don't want some prissy room mother calling me up because my boy talked about pissing in front of her little Joe Schmo."

Sam laughed then. If Marshall had heard her string of indelicacies, he'd have nipped it in the bud quickly but fortunately, he was out in the living room answering the door, allowing Brandi, Peter, and Jesse onto the threshold.

"Hey man, how you doing?" she heard Marshall greet his nephew and the indistinct babble of Brandi and Peter offering their thanks for dropping their charge.

"It'll be sort of weird," Sam commented above the chatter. "Jesse hasn't stayed here in forever."

"But you still see him all the time," Mary reminded him, not wanting him to write his cousin off already as she gathered the pillows once more and resolved to take them to the living room and make a bed on the couch.

"Yeah, but he's into different stuff now," Sam pointed out.

"He's always been into different stuff Smush," Mary reminded him, unable to stop herself. "He was into cars when you were into cowboys."

"I thought he liked cowboys too," Sam looked up curiously, something resembling a confused gleam in his eyes. "Didn't he?"

Mary didn't really want to get into this. Whatever Jesse was 'into' now, she could be certain it was something that Sam was not just like the old days; only Jesse clearly wasn't troubling to hide his new interests anymore. Mary was pleased he had at least grown up enough to take ownership in his likes and dislikes, but it was obviously still holding him back.

"Yeah, he did," she answered in hopes of clearing it up. "He liked both."

Sam shook his head, obviously a little bewildered about why they were discussing this. Mary refused to tell him to blindly accept Jesse. She would not be one of those parents that forced their children to be friends. She had a feeling, however, that Marshall would be making a hearty effort when she wasn't around.

"We can always just play video games," Sam shrugged as he swaggered to the door. "Everybody likes those."

Before Mary could respond, he was out ahead of her and venturing to say hello. His mother sighed, clutching the pillows against her like a life preserver, hoping the week just went smoothly even if the boys didn't make some magical reconnection. She just wanted to keep both of them content; she didn't need a stand-off on her hands. Close quarters never sat well with her.

She walked out behind her son to see him wave at his cousin as he headed to the kitchen.

"Hey Jesse," he greeted him. "I'm getting a Dr. Pepper. You want one?"

The blonder of the two boys was still standing stationed between his parents, shouldering a backpack and holding a duffel bag. By all accounts, he looked the same as he had as a five-year-old, and that shyness still persisted.

"Can I have one?" he asked Peter, looking up at him with their matching green eyes.

Well, Mary's eyes.

"Yeah, sure," his dad approved. "Careful of Mary's rug though, okay?"

At the mention of his aunt, Jesse's gaze traveled to her figure striding down the hall. She fed him a smile, dumping the pillow and sheets from the linen closet onto the couch.

"Sorry, I missed introductions," Mary quipped as she came closer.

Jesse took his turn at grinning and dropped his duffel to the floor to put his arms around Mary's waist. She'd come a long way since the days before Marshall when she couldn't stand to be touched and Jesse, even at eleven years old, had not lost his trademark love for affection. Mary clapped him roughly on the back as Brandi chuckled at the interaction.

"Good to see you Jess," she mused casually. When she stepped back she ruffled his hair, "Go get a drink. Forget the rug; it's old."

He giggled and tore off for the kitchen to join Sam. Mary was glad to see Sam open the fridge, toss Jesse a soda, and immediately engage him in conversation. For now they were good.

"Thank-you so much for doing this Mary," Peter interrupted as she watched. "My mom just doesn't get around like she used to and a bad knee is really gonna slow her down."

"Don't thank me," Mary shook her head and tickled her fingers up and down Marshall's back. "It's the haircut here that's gonna be on baby-sitting duty."

Before Peter could respond, Sam shouted out from the kitchen, "Do you _have_ to call it baby-sitting?" he complained. "Can't you just say you're watching him?"

"What are we watching him do?" Mary rebutted.

This shut Sam up and caused Peter and Brandi to chuckle. It also gave Peter the opportunity to finish his thought.

"Well, thanks to both of you," he concluded. "It's a huge help."

"I'm excited," Marshall chimed in out of nowhere, going the extra mile as he always did. "It'll be great having Jesse to ourselves for a few days."

Brandi was plainly moved by his sentiment and reached up to pat his cheek lovingly in gratitude. Marshall did always know just the right thing to say.

"Well," the younger sister continued. "He should be fine – I got a bag packed for him earlier so he'll have enough clothes. All his school stuff is in his backpack, but the bus won't come by down here…" she was plainly going to go on with her speech but Marshall stopped her.

"I can take him if Mary's gotta head to the office early," he offered at once, which made his sister-in-law smile with relief again.

"Oh…" evidently Brandi wasn't done. "He keeps coughing – I think it's just allergies…"

"He's _coughing_ from _allergies_?" Mary inquired skeptically. "Is that the pollen or the dandelion seeds?"

"You are such a smart ass, Mare…" Brandi muttered in an undertone.

Before Mary could argue back, Marshall held up a hand of warning, "Cease fire Shannon's. Let's take our lead from the children, shall we?"

All four adults turned to the activity in the kitchen, which was now pretty minimal. Jesse was sipping his soda cautiously and gazing around the room while Sam had his head buried in his backpack, unzipped on the counter. Jesse hadn't even taken his off his shoulders.

Mary marginally regretted her sarcasm with Brandi and she glanced at the ground awkwardly. The sight of Jesse by himself, not even sure what to say to Sam, had enabled her to regret.

Meanwhile, Marshall was placing his hand on Brandi's shoulder and peering low to catch her eye.

"He's in good hands; you know that," he assured her. "I can't even count how many times he's stayed here and he always has a great time."

Brandi smiled obligingly now, and nodded. In the back of her mind, Mary wanted to inquire why on earth Brandi was having such separation anxiety but their conversation earlier already gave her the answer.

"We're gonna have to get going, hon," Peter interjected softly in the middle of this exchange. "I told mom we'd try to be there by eleven and I don't want her waiting up to late for us."

"Yeah…" Brandi sighed, her eyes finding the mute boys with their drinks. Standing on tiptoe and peering over Peter's head, "Jesse, baby?"

This recalled Mary to one of Sam's most adamant requests since he'd entered middle school. Mary had never succumbed to the grossness of 'sweetie, honey, darling' especially since he got enough of that from Brandi and Jinx. But he absolutely refused to be called by 'babyish' nicknames any longer. He tolerated 'Smush' because he knew that Brandi had been stuck with her own version of the moniker for life. Politeness prevented him from telling his aunt not to call him 'Sammy' but Mary knew he thought it made him sound like a girl. Smart enough to take the hint, Marshall had backed off on 'sheriff' as well.

Jesse, however, had no such qualms and raised his eyebrows expectantly at Brandi's inquiry.

"Come say goodbye; dad and I need to head out."

Slowly, Jesse set his drink on the counter beside Sam, who glanced up briefly from the confines of his backpack and then went back to what he was doing. The younger shuffled over and stood in front of his parents, eyes large like a sad puppy at the prospect of leaving. Mary felt her heart hitch. Maybe Brandi was right – maybe he really was lonely. Even his snarky aunt hated to think of him being the odd man out; didn't he have any friends?

Marshall, sensing the moment was not necessarily to be interrupted, pulled his wife gently back to give the three Alpert's some space.

"Will you call tonight?" Jesse asked in a little voice.

"Probably not tonight bud," Peter conceded. "We'll call Mary or Marshall to let them know we got to Nana's, but you'll probably be asleep by then. We'll talk tomorrow."

"Okay…" Jesse's voice was tinier still.

"Give me a hug…" Peter requested to brush across the subject.

Jesse did not hesitate to obey and lost himself in his father's arms, head buried in the confines of his chest. With each breath and each moment that passed, Mary was becoming more and more aware of the situation Brandi had been speaking of. Jesse had _always_ been sensitive, always more prone to tears but he was used to Mary and Marshall. They were like a second set of parents and she'd never seen him act like this upon having to leave his real mother and father.

"I know you'll be good," Peter said as he let his son go.

Mary liked this comment, rather than simply instructing Jesse to 'be good.' He always behaved himself.

"I will," he said anyway, and then turned to Brandi.

Mary was struck by the similarities in their features. Everyone always said Jesse looked like her, but this was the first time Mary saw his resemblance to his mother. It was the innocence that was drawn in lines on their faces, the hope that lay etched deep within. There was none of that in Mary's face.

"We'll talk every day," Brandi promised as she took her turn at an embrace. "Do your best at school," she instructed. "Use your manners with Mary and Marshall."

Mary wanted to say he always did, but decided now wasn't the moment to correct Brandi.

"I love you," Jesse murmured and Brandi gave him an extra squeeze before she let him loose.

It was with this move and parting words that the Alpert's headed for the door, Jesse following even as they opened it and waved, jaunting down the walk and calling their love as well. Mary felt a little silly just watching, but Jesse himself stood on the doormat long after Brandi and Peter had already disappeared down the pavement and driven away. The breeze was sweet through the open hatch, warm and wafting on branches and newly-green leaves. Jesse had his hand on the knob and refused to close it.

Mary would've just clapped him on the shoulder and dragged him roughly back into the room if it were up to her. Which was why that task was best left to Marshall.

He jerked his head at her, indicating that she should join Sam in the kitchen where he was already sitting at the island doing his homework. She was swift in merging with her son away from the sentiment.

At the door, Marshall approached his nephew with caution but Jesse never stiffened in his uncle's presence. The long, lanky man knelt down next to him and Jesse turned to look into his face, clearly begging for acceptance.

"You feeling okay Jess?" Marshall asked concisely, not referring to his supposed-cough.

Jesse nodded, "Uh-huh."

Marshall put his hand on his back and rumpled his T-shirt.

"Can be hard to be away from your family, especially when you're not expecting it," he offered intelligently.

"I didn't even know Nana hurt her knee," the eleven-year-old said. "Mom and dad didn't tell me," he was opening up in the presence of the touch on his spine.

"Well, there wasn't much to tell before today," Marshall admitted. "It happened pretty quickly for them too."

Jesse nodded, seemingly accepting this, still staring out at the empty front lawn. Marshall just let him be.

"You know I was thinking," his uncle went on when he didn't respond. "If you're still with us on Sunday you'll get to come to Stan's retirement party."

"Your boss Stan?" Jesse wanted to make sure.

"That's the one," Marshall nodded. "We're gonna have cupcakes and I'm gonna see if I can get Mary to partner-up with someone for a balloon race."

"What's a balloon race?" he asked curiously.

"You put a balloon between your legs and try to run with it."

Jesse smiled then, tongue poking between his teeth, clearly pleased at the prospect of a party. Marshall knew he wasn't getting invited to many these days.

Meanwhile, Mary was trying not to stare at her husband and his nephew and the way he always managed to fix everything with just a few simple words. Sam was working diligently on his schoolwork below her, until he glanced up to see what she was gazing at.

"Why's he so upset?" her son whispered, not wanting to interrupt what was going on-on the other side of the room.

"He's not that upset," Mary clarified.

"No, I know," Sam agreed. "But why would he be at all? I thought he liked staying here."

Mary shrugged, "He does. I think."

Sam shook his head, not satisfied with the response. Mary wasn't about to tell him that Jesse had become such a loner. It would just make Sam feel guilty. He'd never left his cousin out on purpose.

"You think he's upset about something else?" Sam ventured.

He was way too smart for his own good. Mary decided to rebuttal.

"Why don't you ask him?" she suggested recklessly.

Sam furrowed his brow as she said this and gave the scene at the door another look before he responded.

"Wouldn't he be embarrassed?" he wanted to know.

Not until Sam had posed the idea was it that Mary realized he might be right. How else did you explain Jesse being so closed-mouthed and clingy? He knew what he was going through even if Sam didn't. He didn't want to make it worse for himself by bringing it up or appearing somehow lesser than he already envisioned himself.

"Sam…"

Mary knew she shouldn't say it – shouldn't pose the question. But she'd do it carefully and casually, just as Marshall would.

"You still _like_ Jesse don't you?"

Without even looking up from his paper, "Sure. He's my best friend."

And even though it was the answer she'd wanted, Mary couldn't help noticing how obligatory that statement sounded.

**A/N: All right, let's hope things are even partially underway now! Might take awhile for them to speed up, but no worries! ;) **


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Going ahead and posting another chapter this evening to get myself back on schedule after not being able to upload last night and having to do it this morning! Anyway, thanks so much for continuing to read and review – means a lot!**

XXX

The evening as a family of four had a strange vibe to it. It wasn't awkward or unsettling, but there was an odd sense of separation between Sam and Jesse that Mary definitely felt. Still, she resolved not to let it bother her because neither of the boys seemed particularly concerned and went about their business.

After dinner, Sam dragged Marshall to the living room and spread out one of his end-of-the-year projects on the coffee table, which was a model of the solar system. Mary wasn't entirely sure why he needed Marshall to complete it because it already looked spectacular. All the planets were in proportion to one another, painted specific colors and were about to be hung in orbit. But the mother stayed in the kitchen with Jesse, having been struck by a domestic streak to bake cookies for the boys as a kind of dessert.

Standing at the island and whipping the batter, Mary couldn't help noticing that Jesse seemed to be struggling with his fractions, near as she could tell peering at his sheet upside-down. He kept erasing and blowing his hair out of his eyes, having done this so many times his paper was wrinkled.

Mary wanted to offer, but didn't want to embarrass him with Sam in the next room, so she decided to give him a choice.

"You need help Jess, or you got it?" she stirred casually, trying to mix the chocolate chips in.

"I got it," he insisted without looking up.

But it was plain that he did not. Mary hadn't done fractions anytime in this century, but she was pretty sure the few answers he had weren't quite right. Still, she wanted to leave him some dignity and decided to let him be for a few minutes before she let Marshall swoop in and do the honors.

In the living room, father and son were having an argument over how best to suspend the constructed planets from the bar and stand they'd built.

"I can't just tie them on the rack; they can't orbit that way," Sam reached out to secure Venus in example. "See?" he pointed. "There's no room left for it to spin."

"No, I see what you mean," Marshall conceded, noting how the planet lay lifeless when strapped directly to the rail. "But I don't think we can just tape the string; it won't hold them."

"What if I did this…?" Sam launched into one of his many bright ideas.

Mary, seeing that her cookie batter was as whipped as it was going to be, pulled out the wooden spoon caked in doughy goodness. Although she normally relished the before-baking snack, she held off this time.

"Here Jess…" she leaned her elbows onto the counter and he looked up, cheeks a little flushed from his frustration as well as some of the coughing he'd been doing since dinner.

His aunt offered him the spoon, "Have some."

He looked leery – not an emotion Mary was expecting as she held the mix like a bribe.

"Sam told me people get food poisoning from not-cooked-batter," he whispered.

Mary rolled her eyes and took a hearty lick of her own, "There," she declared bravely. "I had some. Now if you have some we'll both puke our guts up later."

Jesse giggled and took the spoon in his fingers, immediately slurping away. Mary grinned, having enjoyed seeing him smile. He'd been pretty quiet since Brandi and Peter had hit the road.

"Mmm…" he hummed in approval, working his tongue over every square inch of the spoon. "Do you have to make the cookies? Can't we just eat the batter?"

Mary laughed and grabbed one of the egg beaters still caked and took her turn.

"I ate a lot of cookie batter when I was pregnant with Sam," she shared. "Couldn't keep me away from the stuff. Probably got enough of it to last me a lifetime."

Jesse shrugged and continued combing for chocolate chips when there was a knock on the front door. Mary turned, even though she knew Jinx was maybe going to drop by with George, her 'significant other.'

Mary did not think much of that term. Although Jinx claimed she was too old to get remarried and didn't have plans to do so, Mary knew her inability to say yes to a proposal had to do with the fact that she had never been legally divorced from James. Lawfully speaking, she'd been widowed for the past eleven years, so the red tape was no longer an issue, but she wouldn't budge. Still, George seemed okay with it and Mary was too. They'd been together since the Christmas after Marshall had been shot and he was practically a step-father anyway, no matter how you sliced it.

"It's open!" Marshall called from his spot crouched on the floor.

The door released and Jinx emerged, sunny as usual and tottering on heels like always.

"Hello my dears!" she sang to the room at large, dressed in a button-up of shocking pink, trailing George on her arm.

"Hi Jinx," Sam waved in a harassed sort of way over his head, intent on his project and not to be disturbed.

Jesse, spoon licked clean now, turned to Mary with a pleading look in his eyes. Mary wondered what this was about until he considered, glancing at his fractions and then at his aunt.

"Can I take a break for a minute and say hi to Jinx?"

His manners were impeccable, better even than Sam's in some ways, who was so ridiculously charming manners didn't exactly factor in on occasion. Mary knew Jesse's politeness came from the ability to please as well as be liked, when you measured his school situation. It was the need to be accepted.

"Sure man," Mary couldn't say no. "But…" she went on before he could dash away, mothering instincts rearing their head. "How 'bout you let Marshall give you some help with that homework later."

Jesse was not disagreeable, merely hesitant as he whispered, "Will you not tell Sam?"

Not wanting to appear stupid. Jesse's simple existence was fraught with problems.

"You know I get offed if I don't keep my secrets," Mary replied in an undertone. "It's my business."

Jesse gave her a small smile before handing her the spoon and hopping off the stool, racing into the living room. Mary watched as he slowed in Jinx's inner circle; she tore her vision away from Sam's masterpiece to dote on her youngest.

"Oh, hello my sweetheart…" she gushed, stooping down to give Jesse a hug.

"Hi Jinx," he murmured beneath her arms. When he emerged, "Hi George."

Mary got busy slapping what was left of the dough onto a cookie sheet, musing that although she mostly tolerated George as she tolerated most people, he was not a bad guy. He was certainly a step-up from James, anyway. He was fairly soft-spoken and never seemed to want to intrude. If nothing else, he was enraptured with Jinx and her ability to still dance at such an age; he was also genial with Sam and Jesse. Sam had never exactly had a grandfather – Stan came the closest – and Mary reflected that it was nice that he had something near to it these days.

"Look at you Jesse darling; you're even taller than you were when I saw you two weeks ago…" Jinx spurted, patting his head like a dog. "You're growing up so much."

One thing to be said for Jinx, there was no favoritism between grandsons. She adored them both – as any good grandmother should.

"I don't think I'm _that_ much taller," Jesse insisted. "I'm still the shortest one in my class."

He was. Mary had forgotten.

"Oh, you'll catch up in no time," Jinx declared with a dismissive wave of her hand.

"Jinx!" Sam suddenly burst, hopping up from the coffee table, clearly enthralled with a new discovery in the finishing touches. "Did you see my solar system?"

"It's beautiful honey," Jinx told him, and Mary distinctly saw him tense at being called 'honey.'

It was Marshall's turn to stand up, clearly the crises in hanging the spheres averted. He greeted George, shaking his hand and exchanging pleasantries. Mary was almost through molding the cookies when she was able to catch his eye, jerking her head to get him to join her in the kitchen. Jinx, George, and Jesse were distracted by Sam describing his project in vivid detail and he obeyed.

"What's up?" he asked once they were side-by-side and out of earshot.

"Jesse needs help with his fractions but he doesn't want Sam to know," she reported as he dipped his finger into one of the unbaked cookies.

"Sam's not gonna care," Marshall shrugged.

"I know," Mary agreed. "But Jesse's embarrassed; I didn't know what to tell him."

Marshall was casual, "We'll figure it out."

That was Marshall's mantra. He never worried or fretted over things like this – he went with the flow, breezing through with ease. That was lucky, really, because Mary concerned herself with everything and it was quite enough for both of them.

Meanwhile, Sam was still showing off, completely in his element with his wealth of knowledge.

"See Jinx? Dad and I showed the nickel, iron, and rock in Saturn with the different shades of grey…" he tilted the ringed-sphere in display. "And we put the cotton balls around Uranus to show its cloud structure…"

"Uranus," Mary scoffed. "What egghead named that planet?"

"It was named for a combination of the Greek deity of the sky Uranus, who was the father of Cornus – that's Saturn – and the grandfather of Zeus," Marshall reported as Mary slid the cookies into the oven.

She scoffed once more, used to his dictating by now. With Sam excelling and climbing the ladder in academic achievement at every possible moment, she was going to have two Marshall's on her hands before she knew it.

"That's so cool…" Jesse breathed at his description, reaching out to rotate one of the balls.

"Thanks," Sam had a moment of modesty. "That one's Pluto," he went on without pausing to take a breath. "Technically, it's not _really_ a planet anymore, but it used to be…"

"How come it's not a planet anymore?" Jesse questioned while Jinx glowed nearby.

"Because it's a lot smaller than the others and its orbit around the sun takes significantly longer," Sam supplied.

Why did he say 'significantly?' He was everything like Marshall – screw 'a lot' and 'much.' No, he went with 'significantly.'

Jesse considered Pluto a little more closely upon hearing this. Smaller, slower, last in line.

"I think it should still be a planet," he voiced quietly; eyeing the pretty shade of blue Sam had painted it.

Sam himself shrugged unconcernedly while Mary calculated what Jesse had just said. There was a weird connection there somewhere.

"Huh. Pluto," Mary mused, so quietly Marshall didn't catch it.

"What?" he leaned in.

Mary shook her head and dusted her hands on her jeans, "Nothing."

She wasn't sure why she didn't repeat herself. Marshall would've been enlightened if she'd told him what she was thinking. But she kept it to herself and good thing too, because George was abandoning the boys and joining them at the island.

"Good evening Mary," he inclined his head politely, hands in his pockets. "How are you doing?"

He was never quite sure how to act around her. She knew she was snarky and stand-offish still, but her efforts had persisted so much more since being married to Marshall.

"Same old," was her response. "What's up with you two?" she jerked her head at Jinx.

"Oh, Jinx just wanted to stop in and see the boys," George offered. "After she heard that Brandi needed to go away for a few days – make sure you didn't need anything."

"I think we're good," Marshall answered before Mary could do it. "I guarantee you'll get a call if we can't handle the double-team."

George chuckled genially, "Sure," was his brief response.

There was a bit of an awkward silence then, proving Mary's theory that George was maybe slightly uncomfortable around her even this many years into it. Fortunately, he was the one who managed to fill the thin air.

"Sam sure is a smart kid," he shook his head, as though he couldn't quite comprehend the magnitude. "Listening to him talk about all those planets – I didn't even know half that stuff," he chuckled again.

"He takes after his nerd father," Mary joked. "It's frightening how you can't tear either of them away from seven hundred page books no one in their right mind would ever read unless they were bound to a prison cell for the next twenty-five."

It was Marshall's turn to grin, and his hand found Mary's shoulder. Her compliments were backhanded, but they were in there just the same and he appreciated it.

"He likes middle school then?" George asked to offset Mary's statement.

"Loves it," Marshall replied, squeezing Mary's shoulder. "We're very fortunate; he's thriving."

Mary knew this was his way of saying that another in their midst was not doing so spectacularly, and acknowledging how lucky they really were to have a son to whom school came so easily.

"Say George…" the man went on before the other could answer. "Would you and Jinx mind taking Sam out for a little while – just on a walk, maybe to get some ice cream before it gets too dark? I want him to have a break from the schoolwork; once he gets an idea in his head he just runs with it and doesn't remember to come up for air."

"Sure," George repeated from earlier. "You want us to take Jesse too; you guys can have some time to yourselves?"

"Mary made his favorite cookies," Marshall reported. "He can hang out here with us."

Marshall's brilliance never ceased to amaze his wife. It was the perfect opportunity to get rid of Sam without Jesse feeling left out – since Mary had indeed made the cookies just for him – and the chance to get his homework done away from prying eyes.

George agreed to this and went into the kitchen to inform Jinx of the plan, who was more than happy to go along with it. Sam also seemed all right with the arrangement and didn't even ask if Jesse was coming. Jesse, smart enough to recognize it for what it was, kept silent. Things really had changed.

Jinx made a dash into the kitchen to say some combination of a hello-goodbye to Mary before leaving the house.

"We won't keep him out late," she swore, giving her daughter a quick kiss on the cheek. "Have to make sure that genius mind of his gets to bed on time."

"Yeah mom," Mary murmured blandly, sweeping the counter free of batter.

"You sure Jesse doesn't want to come?" her mother tried to clarify.

"He'll be fine, mom," Mary looked up to reinforce the point. "Get going."

"You know he's coughing, right darling?" the matronly side didn't quit.

"Yes, I know," Mary was getting definitely annoyed now, not even sure why. "Brandi says its allergies; he'll live."

With this, Jinx shut up and made for the door, George on one arm and Sam on the other. George waved in a gentlemanly way before shutting the hatch behind them. This left Mary and Marshall standing sentry in the kitchen and Jesse ambling his way back, seeming to relax a little without so many people around.

"Are the cookies done yet?" he asked curiously, lifting himself back onto the stool at the island.

"Two minutes and counting, outlaw," Marshall spouted. "Want some milk with those?"

"Yes please," he nodded in excitement.

Mary silently went to the fridge to pour him a glass, and saw his eyes stray to the worksheet in front of him, clearly dreading what was ahead. Although Mary had already made the suggestion and he didn't need to ask, obviously he felt it was prudent to do so. He was ready to be finished.

"Marshall, will you help me with my fractions?" he said, a little more boldly now that Sam wasn't in the room.

"My pleasure," Marshall was corny as ever, sitting across from his nephew and seizing a pencil from a cup resting at the end of the counter. "Those fractions are tricky beings; so many rules and restrictions…"

Jesse nodded, grateful to be understood and actually smiled at the description.

"See this number on top…" he pointed. "That's called the numerator."

"Yeah…" Jesse murmured uncertainly.

"And his pal downstairs, below the line – that's the denominator…"

Mary quit listening as she poured Jesse a massive glass of milk and pulled the cookies out of the oven to cool. As she watched the pair of them, she reflected that once upon a time she had never had much use for sensitive individuals. People who wore their heart on their sleeve were destined to be disappointed. But looking at Jesse, she couldn't help feel badly for someone who tried so hard, who did nothing to deserve being knocked down, and no matter how he strived he continued to come up short.

Plopping two cookies on a napkin, she grabbed the milk and delivered it to Jesse, who was actually nodding in understanding.

"So if you just multiply the two bottom numbers, you'll always find one they have in common?" he asked.

"That's right," Marshall assured him confidently. "You'll have to work with bigger numbers, but that's a way to make sure you've got a common denominator."

"I didn't know that," Jesse whispered. "I think my teacher said something but I…" he screwed up his face in concentration. "I guess I forgot."

Marshall was swift in deflecting any blame.

"Well, you got it now man," he pressed on. "You're a smart guy."

Jesse smiled then, and looked up seeing his aunt give him his snack.

"Thanks Mary," he grinned.

She reached out and rumpled his hair affectionately.

"You bet, Jess."

**A/N: Hope you all enjoyed this chapter – and my newest character George! XOXO**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Thanks for reading. Something seems to be up with the site – my chapters are going up, but the story isn't being bumped in the list even though I think it's most recent. I don't know – maybe it'll work this time!**

XXX

Mary was up at five the next morning for a court appointment at seven thirty. She resented the ordeal, knowing she was needed for about a half hour and she'd be back at the office before noon and forced to continue working after getting up at the crack of dawn. Marshall was working from home for most of the morning, so Mary was sleepy and alone as she rose from bed.

She'd turned in vaguely unsettled the night before. It had been so much easier when Sam and Jesse were younger and slept in the same room. She would just bid them goodnight and shut the door, knowing they'd spend the hour that followed yaaking before actually going to sleep. But leaving Jesse by himself on the couch in the living room made her realize, yet again, how different things had become.

And it was because of their snoozing houseguest that she was forced to tread lightly through a darkened kitchen, attempting to make coffee with no light and very little noise.

Still, she could scarcely keep herself from cursing as she groped for a mug and squinted at the dials on the coffee maker but whether fortunately or unfortunately, she heard Jesse stir despite her efforts. He groaned and rubbed one of his eyes with his finger, elbowing up on the pull-out couch where he'd slept.

"Morning," Mary whispered, persisting in leaving the lights out.

"What are you doing?" Jesse said hoarsely, which caused him to cough a few times. "It's still dark outside."

Mary mixed her coffee, tossed the stir on the counter, and went to join him on the sofa-bed, which practically swallowed him up as it was designed for a much larger person. He'd sunk back into his pillows, peering up into her face with his green eyes, dulled from the lack-of-brightness.

"I gotta go to work," she told him, taking a sip of the hot beverage.

"But it's really early," Jesse insisted with a yawn and another few coughs, polite enough to cover his mouth with his hand. "Stan wants you to work even before the sun's up?"

Mary chuckled softly, "It's not really Stan. Just something I've gotta do – unavoidable."

Jesse closed his eyes and burrowed further into his blankets.

"That smells good," he hummed when Mary took another dreg of coffee and the scent wafted across his nose.

Seeing the small smile on his face, remembering his feelings of inadequacy from the night before, and the fact that he'd been out here by himself when he usually got to bunk with his best pal, Mary plunged on recklessly with the thought that had entered her mind.

"You want a sip?" she asked.

His lids snapped open, probing her face in surprise.

"Isn't it coffee?" he wanted clarified.

"Yeah," Mary shrugged. "It won't hurt you. Try some."

Jesse made himself sit up again; leaning against the pillows propped against the back of the couch, he slowly took the mug in his hands. He looked apprehensive, like he couldn't quite believe he was being allowed to do this. Mary couldn't say for sure what had prompted such a notion, but why not?

"Sip it slow; 'cause it's hot," she reminded him before he put his lips to the rim and let his tongue lap up several droplets from around the edges.

"What do you think?" she asked as he smacked his gums together in thought.

He wasn't gagging, so that was something.

"It's okay," he offered, handing the cup back to Mary. "It smells better than it tastes."

Mary smiled and downed another gulp, "It's got a lot of sugar in it," she told him. "It'd taste worse without that; but I put in a little extra this morning to keep myself awake."

Jesse turned on his side and let his eyes flutter shut again, still coughing low in his chest. Mary was hoping it was just from having been asleep all night, that it would clear out as soon as he was up and moving around.

"How long before school?" he murmured quietly.

"About an hour before you need to get up," she reported. "Try to catch some more z's before then, okay?"

Jesse nodded, but the effort caused him to cough once more. Mary could see his cheeks flush even with half his face buried in the pillow and dimness of the room.

"You feel okay Jess?" the aunt nudged, just to make sure.

Reaching out, she put her free hand on his forehead, brushing his hair out of the way. He sighed contentedly, as though enjoying the touch, but he didn't open his eyes.

He simply hummed, "Mmm hmm" as a kind of response to her inquiry.

He wasn't warm, so Mary decided he probably was okay and also knew it was time for her to hit the road.

"I gotta get moving man," she told him to wrap things up. "See you after school."

"Have fun at work," was his congenial reply, and this made Mary chuckle as she stood up to replace her mug in the kitchen.

"Doubtful," she conceded, putting the cup in the sink and hoping Marshall would wash it later. "You have a good day at school."

Jesse sighed, "Doubtful."

Mary was hard-pressed not to smirk at his cleverness with the word. She wanted to urge him for more information, to open him up a little, to figure out if _he_ knew when he found himself left behind, but now wasn't the time. Regardless, he always moved on and did his best in spite of how he might feel. Right now, this would have to do.

Venturing back to the couch, she grabbed her tote from the floor and decided a little affection couldn't hurt. It was early and there was no one around to see her.

"Love you Smoosh," she dropped a kiss on his head and he smiled softly again, easing his eyes open to peer at her.

He looked like he was about to say something, so Mary waited.

"Why?" he finally whispered.

His aunt was thrown, "Why what?"

Jesse thought, turning a little evasive, eyes falling back to his blankets to avoid looking at Mary dead-on. He couldn't mean what Mary thought he did. Was he asking why she loved him?

"Nothing," he decided. "Thanks for the coffee."

Mary resolved to let it go, too perplexed by the other possibility to force it out of him.

"Don't tell your mom I let you have it," Mary bargained, and this earned her a weak chuckle.

"Okay."

With that, she bid him goodbye and was out the door, on the road to worlds with stenographers and Bibles and judges and testimonies. It was never something she relished, even though she saw less of it these days than she used to. She still sat in with witnesses on occasion and this always prompted the occasional road trip, something that was virtually nonexistent in Marshall's life. Although he was the greater brains of the southwest WITSEC – she his faithful sidekick – she still missed him on the long mornings and nights she spent as the sun rose and fell. She could've used him this go-around to bounce off some of her ideas about Jesse. Everyone troubling themselves over him seemed to have become ingrained in her as well.

As expected, however, she was back at the Sunshine Building around 11:45 right before lunch. Despite her and Marshall's change in status with WITSEC, both had lobbied to keep their area on the roof. The new, more in-combat inspectors took residence on the floor below. The two of them remained upstairs with Stan and Delia, who were the only ones around when Mary arrived.

It was quite some time, however, before both managed to emerge from the office and greet her.

"Afternoon to you, inspector," Stan was cordial as usual as he sauntered out, hands in his pockets.

Mary waved an indistinct hand over her head, not unlike Sam the night before with Jinx, but chose not to respond vocally as she was immersed in her paperwork.

"I understand you've got a boarder this week," he continued when she didn't answer.

"What are you telepathic?" Mary snarked, flicking her eyes upward for the merest fraction of a second.

"Marshall had to push his meeting back a little so he could take Jesse to school," Stan went on swiftly.

"Ah," Mary voiced, somewhat incoherently.

Stan was quiet for a moment as Delia returned to her desk with her typical buyout hello to Mary in the process, to which she responded in kind with an irritable snort.

"Listen, about this shindig at which I am guest of honor on Sunday…" Stan switched topics abruptly, clearly ready to get on with what was on his mind.

"Uh-huh…" Mary was not really listening.

"I'm not sure it's necessary," he'd been on this topic since he'd made his announcement. "Since when is retirement worthy of all this festivity?"

"Look Chief, I'm not the party-planner," Mary glanced up, hands palms out to indicate she was a free agent in this scenario. She jerked her head at Delia, "Talk to the water cooler over there."

Mary wouldn't admit it, but she was fully in favor of sending Stan out with a bang. He'd been her and Marshall's joint-chief for upwards of twenty years. If anybody deserved to go out in style, it was him.

Stan seemed to be considering his statement a little more carefully in the realization of having to wade through logistics with Delia.

"I want those ribs – from that place downtown," he waved a very boss-like finger. "And pork rinds."

"So, what you're really asking for in the days leading into eternal relaxation is a heart attack," Mary almost smirked, but gave him her classic, impassive face in trying to pretend she was serious.

It was Stan who ended up grinning and he slapped her desktop for emphasis.

"My party, my grub inspector!"

And he turned on his heel to head back into the office. However Mary, still with the swirling thoughts of Sam and Jesse, confident one was going to turn out fine while worried the other would continue to struggle, decided that without having had Marshall to talk to all through the morning, she might give Stan a whirl. After all, a couple more days and his ear wasn't going to be around to bend anymore.

"Stan…!" she called out, a little louder than she meant to but maybe she just wanted his attention.

He turned back, eyebrows raised expectantly. Mary chewed her thumbnail and considered her question, tapping her pencil against one of the cups strewn about all the picture frames. When she didn't answer right away, Stan made his way back as though he sensed her question might be of a sensitive nature.

"What kind of kid were you?" she blurted out, completely unmelodic.

Stan furrowed his brow, obviously in agreement.

"What kind of kid was I?"

"Yeah, you know," Mary shook her head and then dove on in hopes that her prior statement would not sound so stupid. "Revoltingly popular, socially-awkward, voted most likely to have the shiniest head, what?"

Stan shrugged, not exactly accustomed to such a question and now that Mary had stopped to think about it, she'd never actually pictured Stan as a child. He was one of those people that seemed as though they were born forty years old. She wasn't sure if that was a compliment or an insult.

"I don't know," he offered. "I suppose I was well-liked enough, not without a few rocky years there in middle school, but who doesn't have that?"

"Sam," Mary supplied before she could stop herself.

He smiled a grandfatherly grin.

"I believe Sam is the exception, rather than the rule."

The motherly part of Mary that enjoyed her son being given such a staggering compliment was pleased, but she still couldn't forget Jesse. How had they become such polar opposites all of a sudden? They'd never been as alike as people liked to assume, but there was always a middle-ground. What did they have now? How had Jesse lagged behind while Sam had soared ahead?

"Why do you ask?" Stan couldn't help himself from voicing, and Mary couldn't blame him.

"Ah…" Mary shrugged like it was nothing and went back to her work. "Marshall seems to think…" better not to pin the observation on herself. "Sam and Jesse are growing apart."

Stan nodded, not entirely sure what this had to do with her question, but it became marginally clearer.

"Well, Jesse's a sweet kid," he tried to offer some hope. "I'm sure he'll find his niche soon enough."

It was this that made Mary realize Marshall might've already mentioned this anomaly to Stan on an occasion before this one. He was a man who liked to get multiple viewpoints. And a man who adored his nephew as much as he adored his son.

Looking at the photo on her desk of Marshall holding Jesse and Sam on the couch, three and four years old that he'd given her for Christmas the year after he'd been shot, she knew his ability to spread the compassion was one of the things she loved most about him.

**A/N: Sorry this one wasn't too long, but I hope you were glad to see Stan. I love him!**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: I do not own In Plain Sight! Forgot that!**

XXX

When Marshall brought Jesse home from school that afternoon, it was to find an empty house. Tossing his keys onto the counter in the kitchen while Jesse plopped down on the sofa, he was surprised to realize Sam was nowhere in sight.

"Sam?" he called anyway, jogging back to his bedroom but he wasn't there. The house was small enough as it was; it was unlikely he would've missed him.

"Hmm…" was his inarticulate comment as he ventured back to the living room.

Jesse was sitting on the couch with his arms crossed, staring somewhat apprehensively at his backpack that he'd placed on the coffee table.

"Where is he?" Jesse prodded about his cousin, seeing Marshall come back empty-handed.

"I am not sure," his uncle admitted. "Sometimes he rides the bus home with a friend."

Jesse, if possible, looked even more melancholy at these words.

"Oh," he murmured quietly, eyes straying to his fingers in his lap.

Marshall considered, wondering if he should let his son's conspicuous absence pass without further investigation. Sam didn't have a cell phone – Mary had refused, saying he had to wait until he was thirteen. Most of his friends possessed one though, and he was very good about calling if he wanted to go somewhere after school. He supposed he'd probably rung up Mary and asked.

Still, it couldn't hurt to make sure.

"Mary will know," Marshall pulled out his own cell and dialed his wife.

Of course, there was no telling where _she_ might be. While it rang through the speaker, he watched Jesse looking absent and downhearted, fiddling with a loose thread on the hem of his shirt. Marshall knew he'd hoped Sam would be at the house after a long day in class to maybe pal around with, but this activity wasn't unusual. Sam had made so many new acquaintances; he often did not come home right away. Jesse, obviously, had not had the same luck.

"Hey," Mary's voice finally floated through.

"Hi," Marshall greeted her briefly as he moseyed back into the kitchen, glancing in the cabinets to find a snack for Jesse. "Sam call you?"

"Yeah," Mary replied. "He and some of the other boys walked to the grade school to hang out at the playground. I told him I'd pick him up on my way back to the house."

"All right," Marshall conceded. "You want to pick up dinner too?"

"What am I, your lackey now?" his wife quipped.

Marshall chuckled, "I'd actually prefer a French chambermaid."

"Jesus doofus," Mary sighed, but he heard the amusement just the same. "Getting me all hot and bothered when I'm at work is risky business. I'm sure Stan wants to have a humiliation-induced stroke his last week before retirement."

Marshall laughed again, "Did all that mean yes?"

There was an appropriate silence where Mary considered how much to tease him and make him dangle, but he waited it out. They were pros at this game.

"What do you want?" she finally said.

This was a question Marshall didn't need to be in charge of. Pulling the phone away from his ear and placing his fingers over the mouthpiece, he appealed to the downcast Jesse.

"Jess, what do you want for dinner?" he asked. "You're the man; give us some grub."

The young blonde boy only looked slightly more cheered by this thoughtfulness, and pondered a moment in his decision.

"Pizza?" he inquired cautiously, a question on the end.

"My informant says pizza," Marshall relayed to Mary.

"All right, fine," she agreed swiftly. "See you soon."

"Copy that," Marshall threw in, often unable to help himself from reverting back into their familiar pattern.

With this, he hung up and tossed the Blackberry onto the counter next to his keys. Jesse was still looking completely vacant and continued to cast furtive, anxious glances at his backpack. It was apparent he wanted no part of what lay inside, that homework was not something he relished tonight – or any other for that matter. The absence of Sam hadn't done anything for his motivation.

Marshall settled himself down next to him, patting his knee affectionately and trying to decide what the best way was to boost his spirits.

"So where's Sam?" Jesse posed once more before Marshall had spoken.

"Hanging out at the playground," Marshall supplied without thinking.

This was an obvious mistake, and Marshall knew it the moment it escaped out his mouth. Jesse was too shy to become overtly upset in front of his uncle, but it was clear he was wholly disappointed. He proved it with his next words.

"I was just there…" his voice was barely a whisper, but Marshall heard the sadness.

Being left out, left behind, not included – on purpose or not, it didn't feel good.

"I'm sorry man," Marshall patted his knee again in hopes of providing some comfort. "I wish you could've gone too."

The man would've gladly taken him, but there were a whole string of things that made him believe it was not a very good idea. Jesse did not know any of Sam's friends, and showing up with Sam's dad would only embarrass Sam himself and make Jesse seem like the tag-along little brother. Sam would never treat him as such, but Marshall knew Jesse couldn't anticipate the kind of feelings that situation would prompt. The younger was also still coughing up a storm, but that was really the least of Marshall's worries at this point.

"You want a snack?" Marshall offered kindly. "We can have some of those leftover cookies, play a couple rounds of Mario Kart before we start your homework," he tried to make it sound inviting.

It was a feeble bribe. Jesse was so skilled at Mario Kart these days he had lost interest in playing. There were other games he enjoyed, of course, but somehow Marshall didn't think this would brighten his mood.

As it was, his nephew shook his head.

Marshall thought he might remain silent after this, but he slowly turned and gazed up into Marshall's blue eyes, his orbs of jade large, but gorgeous. They looked just like Mary's.

"Did my mom call today?" he asked.

This wasn't a question Marshall expected, but it made no difference.

"Uh…no," he tried not to show his surprise. "But she's going to. I know she won't forget."

Jesse nodded, buying into this, but it didn't do anything for him in the moment. Marshall knew how attached he was to Brandi – the closest thing to a self-proclaimed mama's boy. They were just alike, the two of them. Innocent and optimistic to the point of injury, forever believing things were going to turn out okay even when it seemed impossible. Both affectionate, both kind.

"I just…" Jesse responded, dropping his gaze in embarrassment. "I…" he paused. "I kind of miss her…"

Marshall was certain he had tacked on 'kind of' to seem a little tougher, but it was hard to miss the yearning in his tone.

"I understand," he said truthfully. "You know, I miss my mom too."

"She lives far away, huh?" Jesse was opening up a little more now.

"Yeah, you remember," Marshall prompted. "In Kansas."

"That's in the middle, right?" he inquired.

"Exactly right," Marshall reinforced. "I only see her a couple times a year – my brothers too – and I sure wish she could visit more often."

Jesse stretched and placed his feet on the coffee table; put a fist to his mouth briefly and coughing once or twice before he continued.

"She was here a long time when you were in the hospital," he reported suddenly.

Marshall's heart hitched a little with this recollection. Jesse had only been five years old when he'd been shot. Marshall himself only remembered bits and pieces surrounding the time, and had been filled in on the rest, but Jesse's reaction to the ordeal hadn't seemed to take precedence after he'd come around two weeks in.

"You remember that?" he decided to ask.

Jesse shrugged, "Some." Then he elaborated, "Not a lot. Your mom was really nice. And I was scared I might never see you again."

Marshall opened his mouth to respond, shocked he was getting his nephew to reveal so much, but he wasn't done.

"So, my mom told me I should pray for you," he stated bluntly. "And I did – kind of, I guess – I wasn't really sure how. But you woke up a couple days later."

He swallowed after having coughed, cheeks a little red now.

"I thought maybe I'd done it," he sounded a little bitter, as bitter as an eleven-year-old could sound. "But I know Sam had a really cool dream, so it was probably him. That's really all I remember."

Marshall was aghast at all this information that seemed to have poured out even against Jesse's will. He was so devoted to Sam he believed everything was attributed to him, that he quite literally moved heaven and earth. Marshall wished he could inspire a little more reality without taking all that loyalty away in one fell swoop.

"I think it was probably both of you," he finally said evenly.

Jesse nodded, not entirely convinced, "Maybe."

There was a silence then. Jesse seemed unabashed about everything he had just said, still twirling the stray thread on the hem of his shirt. Marshall thought he looked contemplative though, like he might not be finished speaking. How much did he really say these days anyway?

Jesse shifted, still with his feet on the coffee table, but turning onto his side to face his uncle.

"Do _you_ remember anything from then?" he asked.

Marshall was struck by how young Jesse still seemed in comparison to Sam. He was the very definition of a late bloomer.

"From when I was asleep?" he clarified and as Jesse nodded, "No. I don't."

The longer they discussed this, the more those old feelings of guilt started to overcome him. After the shooting, he'd seen a therapist of his own volition – dragging Mary a few times against hers – and although the sessions had been beneficial in some ways, some of it had also faded as the years had gone by. It was pretty easy for Marshall to slip back into blaming himself for the situation and the heartache he had caused.

Jesse was proof.

"What I remember is afterwards," Marshall elaborated. "The first time I saw Mary and Sam – my mom looking at me and telling me to squeeze her hand if I could hear her. You bringing me that great drawing of me as a sheriff in the Old West," he grinned.

Jesse shrugged modestly, "I knew how much you liked cowboys."

This was a thoughtful soul, this boy.

"If it's important," Marshall found himself dictating. "You remember it."

On that philosophical note, his phone – still on the counter across the room – started buzzing. Cuffing Jesse's shoulder at the sound, he stood to retrieve it, wondering if Mary had forgotten to tell him something during their brief conversation earlier.

But when he reached the cell and looked at the display, it was to find a younger Shannon waited on the other end. Smiling because he knew his nephew was soon going to do the same, he hit the talk button and launched right in without even saying hello.

"Someone here's itching to talk to you," he greeted Brandi, smirk in his voice.

Jesse's ears – Jesse himself – perked up and he sprung to the edge of the couch, feet thudding to the floor from the coffee table and daring to hope.

"Hi Marshall," Brandi laughed on her own, coarse but delighted just like always. "I just talked to Mary, but she said my guy's there with you. How is he?"

"You can ask him yourself," Marshall invited and without further ado he held the phone out so Jesse could see. "It's your mom, man."

Jesse bounced right up, biting his lip in a reluctant grin as he dashed in a direct line to Marshall. Palming the Blackberry, he put it to his ear and Marshall heard him as he ventured by himself into the kitchen.

"Mom?"

On the other end, the son heard the familiar tone – the one that whispered to him when he was tucked in at night, that bid him farewell to school, that held him close when he was hurting, both inside and out.

"Hi baby!" Brandi called cheerfully. "How was school today?"

"I guess it was okay," Jesse lamented, somewhat hesitantly. "Marshall helped me with my fractions last night so I did a good job on the homework."

"That's wonderful," Brandi gushed as any proud mother would. Leaving the day's triumph and knowing it might have been the only one, she pressed on, "What did you do at recess?"

Jesse considered, glancing furtively over his shoulder at Marshall who was appropriately immersed in papers on the table and was not paying attention.

"Well…" he murmured evasively. "I _wanted_ to play basketball…"

"You love basketball," Brandi reiterated while Marshall made a silent, mental note.

"Yeah," Jesse sighed. "But I usually get picked last and I wasn't sure the other boys wanted me to play, so I played on the swings instead."

Brandi's heart sank at this but she couldn't let it show.

"I know you told me some of those nice girls play on the swings sometimes," she reminded him.

"Yeah," he repeated. "Morgan and Samantha. They're in the other class, but I like them a lot."

Brandi was relieved to hear that and hoped that this Morgan and Samantha would continue to be kind to her son before they turned catty and gossipy in the middle school years that awaited them ahead.

"Mary told me last night she made you some cookies," Brandi plunged on, anxious to get off the topic of school. "Did you like them?"

"They were _so_ good," he reported, and Marshall smiled, his eyes still on the papers in front of him. "And Sam made this awesome solar system for his science class. I hope I get to make one like it next year."

"I saw him working on that last week," Brandi recalled. "It was neat. Did he tell you about all the planets?"

"Yeah," Jesse said for the third time. "He knows everything about them."

"Which one was your favorite?" his mother inquired, brushing over Sam's intelligence.

There was no hesitation that came from the sweet blonde boy with the soft smile at having his mother's voice so close.

"Pluto."

Listening to the pair of them, watching Jesse giggle and grin with a woman who knew him so well – a woman who supported and loved him unconditionally – he reflected that this was a perfect remedy. He shined in Brandi's presence.

Remembering his proclamation from earlier, fingers curling against his jeans as he recalled clawing his way into the world of living inside Carolyn's palm, he really shouldn't have been surprised.

Nobody could bring a boy to life like his mama.

**A/N: Hope you continue to enjoy! Love for the reviews!**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Much love and hugs for the reviews!**

XXX

Watching Jesse cough and generally struggle to remain upright after dinner that evening, Mary began to wonder if he might actually be sick. Whatever Brandi's claims, she'd never heard of allergies that caused such an onslaught of hacking. It was wearing him out and Marshall just barely managed to get him through his homework before Mary called it quits, Sam by himself out in the living room reading through all the chaos.

Marshall was also in a bit of an odd mood – strangely evasive and much quieter than usual, but Mary couldn't imagine what was on his mind that was making him behave as such.

Mary herself had been trying to work at the counter to give Jesse the table, but without much success. There was no point going on; her nephew had hardly touched the pizza he'd requested for dinner.

Putting her pencil down and appealing to Marshall and Jesse at the table, Mary posed her brilliant idea.

"You guys want to watch a movie?"

It was Sam who surprised her. He looked up from where he was engrossed in his book, curled in a ball in the chair. Nighttime, family activities were not commonplace in his home. Especially when there was school to go to and work to be done the following day.

"Right now?" he couldn't resist asking, eyes skirting left to right.

Mary turned her gaze to Marshall and Jesse, pencils poised and watching her expectantly.

"Yeah," she shrugged casually. "What are you in the mood for?" she inquired of no one in particular.

She expected a silence, judging by the off-putting looks on all their faces, but her son was the one who spoke up – and with enthusiasm at that.

"Back to the Future!" he declared, slapping his book shut.

Mary rolled her eyes involuntarily as Marshall chuckled. It was Sam's favorite, and Mary's disdain for it hadn't changed. She despised movies of the supernatural variety and _anything_ involving time travel was just asking too much. The lack-of-realism just had her begging to grab the remote.

She was so busy thinking about this she neglected to realize Marshall was sneaking up behind her, weaving his arms around her waist and murmuring in her ear.

"You asked," he reminded her seductively.

"Yeah, and that's what I get for being cordial," she snarked and when he laughed, his breath was warm on her neck.

Marshall smirked and pulled away from her, heading into the living room to see what else there was to offer. He'd left Jesse behind, who was ambling beside Mary, looking distinctly droopy. Abandoning her paperwork that she would maybe actually get done with the movie on, she turned to her nephew – eyes sunken and cheeks a little pale, not without the patches of red from when he'd been coughing. She knew he couldn't be feeling very good.

"You don't look so hot Jess," she remarked, as if he needed to be told.

He shook his head and closed his eyes, "I feel kind of sick."

No big surprise, but Mary was still a little disheartened. It did figure when his parents were out-of-town that he would contract some virus of sorts.

Kneeling down in front of him, shielding them from the crew in the living room with the counter, she felt his forehead as she'd done that morning. Turning her palm back-to-front, she ascertained that he wasn't very warm but she guessed all the coughing had really taken his toll, not to mention the way he had to fight through his schoolwork.

"Come lie down and watch the movie," his aunt suggested. "Rest for a little while; you'll be fine."

Jesse nodded, without conviction or declaration – merely just doing what he was told.

"Is it good?" he asked.

"Is what good?" Mary prompted.

"The movie," he looked a little nervous, like something Sam enjoyed so much couldn't possibly be something he would even understand.

"It has one part that's rough," Mary supplied to avoid giving her opinion, thinking of the scene in the car with Biff and Lorraine. "But Sam just hides his eyes. You can do the same thing."

Jesse seemed boosted to learn that there was something out there that scared Sam, or at least something he didn't need to be privy to even with being such a genius.

"But it has a neat car in it," Mary tried to sound inviting, still crouched on the floor in front of him.

"What's it called?" Jesse became interested.

"A Delorean," she'd seen it enough times to remember. "Kind of old school, but not bad."

She was about to go on when Sam suddenly piped up from the living room in a moment of humanity, and Mary stood, Jesse turning to hear what he said.

"I'll explain as it goes," he offered. "Some of it's a little confusing the first time you see it, but it's wicked cool," he assured his cousin.

Jesse's eyes flicked back to Mary and she nodded rather against her will. Knowing that he was going to continue to feel left behind in watching a movie whose concept he might not grasp, she opted to scoop up her papers and work in the living room while it played.

Jesse grinned at the gesture and his eyes seemed to lighten a little even in their tiredness. Mary dumped everything on the coffee table while Marshall set up the DVD player and unfolded the couch so they'd all have more room. Sam settled himself in one of the chairs, Marshall pulling the other around to see the television. Mary resided with her back against the armrest, work on her knees – this left Jesse sitting cross-legged beside her.

Mary was a somewhat surprised he wanted to be so close – he was Marshall's little buddy, not hers – but he was inconspicuous while she scratched her pencil and tried to stay focused on the task at hand.

"That's Doc Brown," Sam pointed when the man appeared. "I know he looks totally insane, but he's unbelievably brilliant. He's the one who turns the car into a time machine."

Jesse didn't seem bothered by the plot being given away. On the contrary, he seemed glad to be clued in.

"Look at his hair," Jesse commented.

"I know; it looks like he stuck his finger in a light socket," Sam laughed, using one of Jinx's favorite phrases.

Mary was just glad they were talking, but her mind was with Marshall – he was ambiguous and not at all talkative, shifting uncomfortably in his chair every now and then. She was peering at him over her work, trying to get a read, but she didn't have the faintest idea what could be bothering him.

The look on his face was so peculiar; she could've sworn he seemed guilty. But that didn't match up.

"Why's that lady want to save that old tower?" Jesse asked, pointing at the TV.

"It's important later," Sam commented. "They end up having to use the clock tower."

Jesse nodded intently, clearly set on figuring things out but he, like Marshall, was obviously wearing thin. He persisted in coughing, which meant the noise caused him to miss points in the movie. Luckily, Sam had seen it enough times it didn't matter, but the longer the evening wore on, the fewer questions he asked and he glazed over, whether he understood or not.

Mary became so immersed in her work she tuned the film out, and even Marshall and Sam conversing about the probability and plausibility of some of the things that went on.

"Could you actually _go_ eighty-eight miles an hour on a road that narrow?" Sam asked. "And in the rain? Your tires would spin out."

"It's been done," Marshall conceded dully. "Not the best idea, though. That's why speed limits don't usually go above seventy."

"Yeah, but you said you and mom used to speed _all the time_," he accused. "When you were still…"

Marshall took in the silence, the way his son's words trailed off into nothingness. He knew, now that Sam had gotten older, he blamed himself more for his parents not being the Rambo-types they had posed as when he was younger. He was smart enough to know they ached for the action sometimes, but they'd both made their choice. Neither one regretted it.

"You know," Sam finished lamely.

Marshall nodded, "It's a wild ride. I remember this one time…" he almost smiled with the recollection. "We were in a chase down in the Mesa salt mine…"

"Really?" Sam may have been leery of fieldwork, but he still liked the stories. He sat up, perching on his knees, "Were you driving or mom?"

Marshall let his eyes roam over Mary's figure across the room. She wasn't paying any attention, but he was touched to see that Jesse was not the only one who had lost interest in the movie. He'd fallen asleep with his head on Mary's arm, slumped next to her so light and scarcely touching, to the point where she hadn't even noticed.

"Mom," Marshall reported. "I was riding shotgun – fitting, since I had to blast the guy's tires."

WITSEC itself was still a secret, but more and more of their glory days had started to come out in bits and pieces since he and Mary had taken a backseat. Nothing too specific – no names, logistics, what have you – but Sam was good about keeping things to himself.

"No way," the twelve-year-old declared disbelievingly. "How fast was she going?"

"I can't really remember," Marshall admitted. "We couldn't go too fast because of all the gravel, but she was burning rubber; I'll tell you that."

It turned him on now. It had turned him on _then_, but he'd had to keep quiet about it.

"What were you doing down there?" Sam clearly couldn't resist prodding.

Marshall thought back and realized it wasn't even a WITSEC showdown – it had been because of Brandi. Although she'd been innocent in the car-thief ring, it had put an early stain on her and Peter's engagement, even if it had all come out in the wash. Sam couldn't be told what they'd been doing for a different reason this time. No need to drag Aunt Brandi's name through the mud.

"No dice," was the father's prompt response and Sam shrugged, not having expected more.

The film began to wind itself down then, Marshall contemplating what he and Jesse had talked about earlier – fear, blame, reckless choices and mourners left in their wake. When he got to thinking about it, it was hard to tear the guilt away.

As the credits rolled, Marshall instructed Sam to get himself ready for bed and decided to bring to Mary's attention that her nephew had crashed out so she wouldn't wake him when she finally broke free of her work.

"Mare," he called softly.

"Hmm?" she murmured absently.

When he didn't answer right away, she finally looked up, eyebrows raised in anticipation. He merely jerked his head at Jesse snoozing beside her, his cheek resting on the fabric of her shirt. Nothing about his position looked comfortable. He was obviously tired.

Mary smirked at him, but shook her head in an incredulous sort of way.

"I don't get him," she whispered. "He's _nothing_ like me. Why does he latch on?"

"He misses his mom," Marshall sighed, shifting in his chair. "You remind him of Brandi."

He didn't elaborate on the theory, which was most unusual for Marshall.

"_There's_ a first," Mary muttered under her breath, knowing that if she was far from Jesse, she was certainly further from Brandi.

"It's a maternal thing," Marshall offered.

"Then I'm pretty sure he should be all up in your grill instead of mine," she joked.

Marshall gave a very feeble grin, but didn't attempt to rebuttal. This recalled Mary to the way he'd been acting for most of the night and she decided to goad him a little bit as she gathered her papers up and tried not to disturb Jesse before rising.

"Something on your mind?" she asked.

Marshall shrugged, "A few things."

"Well, share with the class doofus," she advised. "Leaving me out of the loop isn't going to help."

She stacked her papers against her knees and gently pulled away from her nephew, helping him into a reclining position in the pillows against the back of the couch. She was glad she'd thought to pull it out, and also glad he'd gone to school in track pants and a T-shirt so he wouldn't be spending the night in a pair of jeans.

"I was just talking to Jess earlier," Marshall stretched out his long legs, folding his arms behind his head. "About…" he hesitated, knowing about Mary's aversion to this subject. "What happened four years ago."

He hadn't been able to say the words, but he saw Mary pause in pulling the blankets over Jesse at the reference.

"Yeah?" she inquired coolly, back turned.

"He was really young and he had to have been confused…" Marshall went on. "It never really occurred to me, how he must've felt about the whole thing."

Mary hadn't had that revelation either until Marshall had almost come around. She sat on the edge of the bed and faced her husband.

"Well, maybe not," she decided to say. "But it wasn't your job to think about it. It was up to us – out here, on the other side."

"I just meant later," Marshall plowed on. "I should've asked him, I should've…"

"You had other things to be concerned with," Mary whispered. "Like…oh, I don't know…" she worked in some sarcasm. "Your life."

Marshall nodded, not completely sold on the idea.

"I just look at the two of them…" he eyed Jesse and jerked his head at Sam's bedroom door. "And I remember how close they used to be and now…"

"Marshall," Mary interrupted sharply without moving, hissing low in her throat so Jesse wouldn't stir. "You getting shot is not why they aren't close. You said yourself it just happened."

"I know," he sighed in acceptance. "I know…"

Mary thought this might have to be enough, too worried about Jesse waking and hearing them discuss all of this to go any further. She stared Marshall down for a moment before slowly rising to move on to other things.

"I'm gonna make sure Sam's in bed," she told him.

"Okay," he agreed softly.

Before she departed, she made sure Jesse's blankets were secure and brushed his bangs aside to place a hand to his flesh one more time. She was discouraged to discover his skin was a little sweaty and beaded across his brow. Marshall obviously saw her take pause and she heard him shift upwards in his chair.

"Is he warm?" the man inquired.

Mary shrugged unconcernedly, "Kind of," she turned back around. "It might just be the blankets. And he's tired."

That didn't really have anything to do with it, but why split hairs? As she passed Marshall on her way to Sam's bedroom, she bent and captured his lips in hers, breathing him in and tasting him deep within.

When she stepped back, she saw amusement behind his eyes.

"I love you," was all she said.

Marshall looked rather infatuated as he replied, "You have no idea."

**A/N: Hope the story is keeping your interest – the plotline does shift later, but you need all this too; promise. **

**I am not sure how much I will be posting the next couple of days. I am traveling tomorrow night and although I am a laptop girl, I will likely have wonky hotel Internet access through the weekend. But fear not – I'll be back if for some reason I disappear! Hope that is not the case though!**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Okay, let's see if the hotel will let me upload! One of my favorite chapters – italics are dream.**

XXX

_He'd been here before. It was so familiar, so near to the depths of his soul it was hurting him – making him sting, making him burn and his fingertips tickle in high, horrid anticipation._

_The dust around him was thick, the gravel and rocks dirtying the knees of his slacks as he crouched behind the SUV he drove. He could hear them – could hear their shuffling steps, the steady crunch-crunch of boots on tumbleweed rock._

_It was hot in his suit. He was sweating through the jacket, and his tie was uncomfortably tight around his neck. He should've taken it off when they'd got in the car. Before they'd seen the figures stirring, rustling in the stark, leave-less bushes on the side of the one-lane road._

_The body that huddled behind him was unfamiliar as he stared into the black door of the car. But the body to his right radiated fierce determination and a ferocious streak that only came out of the woodwork when it mattered most._

"_Over the hood and back down," Stan whispered to him. "Don't hang around."_

"_Got it," Marshall's throat was dry against his vocal cords._

"_They're gonna go open, inspector," his boss warned. "Don't waste time-."_

_The words were shaken out of Stan by the loud blast that wrenched the air. The witness flinched and flung himself to the ground. But the sound was a bullhorn to Marshall. He sprung, boots skidding in the dirt, and his eyes locked on the first the minute his head cleared the hood of the car._

_His fingers curled against the trigger easily and he was halfway down again when the bullet struck one of three men on the other side._

_Two seconds and five pieces of lead later – shattering the windows, raining glass – Stan had taken his turn at the trio. His shot veered in the presence of the broken shards glittering against the hood like rhinestones and it was Marshall's job again._

"_Stay on the ground…!" Stan demanded of their witness, but Marshall scarcely heard him._

_He struck the second crony and the fire was in his heart now, it was pulsing through his skin, it was keeping him upright, keeping him in the moment, keeping him from thinking about what was waiting at home._

_The adrenaline slowed when he was back on the ground, eyes fixed on the ridges in the tire while Stan dodged another hailstorm of bullets. It was too much for him to get a clear attempt at their last cohort and then he was beside Marshall once more._

_The showdown went silent and the chief and inspector huddled side-by-side, their trembling third a quiet mess in the beyond. _

_Marshall began to believe in a retreat. There were no sounds from across the road – not the tiniest hint of any other enticing, inviting brawl. The only noise was Stan's breath in his ear. The breeze was stifling inside his buttoned collar._

_Stan knelt and peered, ever-so-cautiously, beneath the gap under the car. There were no feet to be seen._

_Turning to Marshall without a word, he shook his head to indicate they were alone._

_It was then that everything became so clear – so sharp and unspoiled. He could retrace the steps, listen to the sounds, and feel the pulse of his heart on any given day and it was the same at every single second._

_His booted foot scuffed against the gravel when he shifted off his knee. But the noise was a beacon, a call to the wild; it was everything that gave them away._

_He felt Stan's hand on his shoulder, trying to tell him without words to stay low, but the pre-programmed instincts to stand and fight had already started pulsing in his veins. He couldn't tell them to stop. _

_That same foot stretched to stand, but something had pushed him closer to the front end of the hood. Upright, his midsection was no longer shielded. _

_Something happened to his brain when he saw the barrel, round and spherical and so near to him. His fingers twitched but that little sliver of lead captured his gaze. It was the witnesses' hand on his ankle that made him start, that distracted his focus._

_And that little grey shell suddenly became the rocket to the moon. The ship to the stars. He could ride it to Saturn and spin on its rings. _

_But he was spinning right now. Swirling and falling all at once. Dreams of higher worlds and a bigger universe turned itself into black. _

_The slit that graced him made him stagger. He could feel nothing at all even as he crashed into nothingness and suddenly, he was scared. He was afraid of the darkness, frightened why he could no longer see._

_A face hovered in his mind and he chased it, he struggled against all odds to feel it and hold it near._

_Mary. Mary, help me. Help me._

_And then it was all gone. It wasn't dark anymore, but light in the afternoon sun of the desert – and he could see himself lying on the ground. He could see his long, lanky form sprawled in the sand, his abdomen stained dark, ghastly red. It was seeping into his clothes; it was mingling amongst the blood of the three others who were motionless nearby._

_He saw Stan kneeling beside him, and he wanted to tell him not to touch because his shirt sleeves of purest white were dripping crimson. He tore his jacket aside and staunched the wound, and it was only after he made the call for the cavalry, that Marshall could stand nearby and hear him say the same words over and over._

"_Marshall...come on…come on…don't give up on me inspector…"_

_He was patting his chest, trying to smile as if Marshall could see him. The funny thing was, standing offshore like this, Marshall _could_ see him. It was the immobile one on the ground that could not._

"_Marshall, stay with me…think about Sam…" Stan rambled. "Think about your boy…your son needs you…" he couldn't stop. "Think about Sam…"_

_And then…_

"_Think about Mary…" he smoothed the hair on his silent face. "Mary loves you. Mary loves you."_

_It was that last phrase Marshall could've sworn two sets of ears heard._

"_Mary loves you."_

_Mary loves you._

And that was when he woke up, speaking the single word into the night, into the darkness, through the gloom of the bedroom with the warm body that breathed beside him.

"Mary."

It was hushed and frightened against his limbs that were rigid, stiff as boards. His heart was pounding against his ribcage, but the calm tone that projected the silence brought him back to earth.

"Yeah?"

She was so sedate, as though he'd simply said her name to ask what time it was. However, when he didn't respond – or indeed – move at all, she rolled onto her side to face him. Her beautiful green eyes were large in the blackness of the bedroom. He could even see the rich, honey shade of her hair spread out over the pillow. She was concerned now as he lay there mute.

"Yeah?" she repeated.

But remembering what he'd told her before they'd gone to bed, recognizing the look of apprehension and fear in his big blue orbs, she thought she understood.

"The desert again?"

He didn't say, but she knew. She could tell. His desert was her basement.

Sighing, she snuggled into his curve, into the groove against his stomach. He wrapped her into his arms, loving the feel of her breathing against him, the idea of their scars resting one on top of the other.

"I keep telling you," she mused casually, a little muffled with her face pressed into the shirt of his pajamas. "You have to take me with you."

He smiled above her, but said nothing. The thought that he might one day heal enough for her to penetrate his subconscious, to appear in a place she had never been, was an intangible gift he had yet to receive. But she was here now, and for the moment that was all he cared about.

But he thought back, and remembered the first untouchable gift in his life was resting in his arms this very second.

Anything was possible.

They lay in silence for awhile, Mary letting herself be held to pull him back to reality while his heart slowed to normal speed, as the figures and faces in the dream faded. A sound met his ears later, a sound he thought he might've been hearing before if not for the fact that he'd been so caught up in the nightmare.

He wasn't sure how long he let it go – a steady, yet shaky rhythm of tremors. He kept thinking it might be part of his inability to doze under, that there was something deep in the recesses of his mind that was jarring him back awake.

However, it seemed Mary heard it too but she sounded drowsy like she might've slipped off in their embrace.

"What is that?" her voice was thick and heavy with sleep.

It was coming from the living room and Marshall patted her back as the realization hit him. It was not in his head, it was not the monsters that lay in the shadows.

"Jesse's coughing."

Mary sighed, not annoyed but troubled, recognizing the strained sounds beyond her bedroom door.

"I should've woken him up and given him something before bed," she decided.

Marshall knew he was unlikely to return to sleep for a little while and thought it best to offer to take care of their houseguest, already having woken Mary up once already.

"I'll see what I can do for him," he said.

"Forget it," Mary said at once. "Go back to sleep. I'll make sure he's okay."

Marshall wasn't sure where her need to take charge suddenly came from, but then realized this was Mary. Here and now, not fabricated or otherworldly. And Mary was always the one who jumped right into action, three in the morning, desert, basement, no matter the cost she was there. She was always there.

So, Marshall opted not to argue and relinquished her from his contact as she rolled back to her side and climbed over the edge of the bed to get out.

Rubbing one eye with her hand, she stumbled through the dark and took care to close the door behind her in hopes that Marshall would not be kept awake much longer.

It was even more dank in the hallway and now that the hatch was no longer stifling the sounds, she became conscious of the fact that her nephew could hardly be breathing he was coughing so hard. It was this that made her pick up the pace, pattering softly and not wanting to wake Sam along with the rest of the house.

"Jesse?" she whispered as tenderly as she was able.

She could see his figure, sort of slumped sideways in the sofa bed; a hunched silhouette.

"Mary?" he managed hoarsely, the words caught in his throat on the way out.

Fumbling with the chain on the lamp, she caught the smooth, slinky cord and yanked.

The light was dim, but it revealed Jesse's pink cheeks, shiny with sweat and a little something else as well. There were unmistakably tears mingling beneath the beads as he curled only half upright against the pillows. He was a miserable sight.

Mary sat down, tucking her legs up under her to be closer to him.

"What's the matter Jess?" she asked, referring to the tears more than the rest of him, which was becoming obvious.

He gulped, which made him choke again before he could work out an answer.

"Let me see…" Mary murmured, much to herself, and she put her hand back on his forehead for what felt like the tenth time, but she'd struck gold. He was radiating heat, warm flesh beneath her cool fingers.

"You're pretty hot," she informed him stoutly. "You've got a fever, bud."

This did nothing but upset him; his lip quivered and a few more tears made their way out, leaking and sliding down his cheeks. Still though, to Mary his illness was not the reason for all the emotion. Something else was bothering him, something that had likely been haunting him for a long time but was pouring out, seemingly so much worse in the presence of a frightening, sick evening away from his mother and father.

"Jess, what's wrong?" she prodded evenly, sweeping his hair away from his eyes. "Why are you crying?"

He knew his aunt was smart – knew she recognized his wave of tears for what they were. Nothing got by her. She was on the ball, one hundred percent of the time.

Still, he withheld, not going to give up his hand until he absolutely had to. But watching Mary sitting there calmly, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear, only three words opened him up.

"Come on, man."

He swallowed, and the cascade of tears started spilling just before the admission shook the night with grief.

"I don't think Sam wants to be my friend anymore."

And now he sobbed, shivering with the reality of saying his fears aloud, punctuated crudely with a cough every few seconds. And Mary, although not exactly skilled with affection knew that she could not leave this boy who yearned for a hug to just sit there and fall apart.

"Come see me, Jess."

The minute he saw her extend her arm, he crawled out of his blankets and fell, completely limp, into her embrace. She huddled him close beneath her, rubbing his hair, letting him get it all out.

"Jess, its okay…" she promised foolishly.

"No, it's not," he bawled, proving this theory. "Mary, he's my best-_best_ friend in the whole entire world…"

The way he accented _best_ made her heart hurt and she altered to rubbing his back instead.

"I don't have another best friend," he whispered murkily. "He's the only one and he doesn't want me anymore."

A very sharp and distinct memory penetrated Mary's mind beneath Jesse's calamity. It was so clear she could smell the sweat and breathe in the heat.

"_You're my best friend."_

"_Jesus Marshall. You're like my only friend."_

It was this that made her kiss the blonde streaks of his hair and attempt to promote an understanding.

"It's not like that bud," Mary murmured, even knowing this would not help. "He still likes you; he's just…"

Just what? Growing up? Moving on? Finding his way when Jesse was not?

There was nothing about this she could change, no lie she could make up. What had happened had happened. She knew it, Marshall knew it, and Jesse knew it too. Short of threatening Sam and forcing him to make nice with his cousin, there was no easy reply ahead of her.

"He's so much _smarter_ than I am," Jesse moaned tragically from beneath her before she could figure out what to say. "He must think I'm so stupid…"

"No," Mary said sharply, and she forced herself to let go of him. She needed to see his eyes.

They were bloodshot and watery as he sniffled and coughed, wiping them on the sleeve of his shirt. But he was staring at her with the largest degree of hope, like she held the keys that would make it all better. She wished she could.

"Jesse, there is absolutely nothing stupid about you," she reiterated. "You and Sam are different. You have always been different, but you're both smart and you're both very good boys…"

The 'very good boys' comment made her sound like Brandi. She skated over it.

"Sam's just…" she tried to go back to where she'd started before. "He's just…" nothing pleasant was going to come of this. "He's really enjoyed being in a new school and meeting new people."

Something else needed to be made known here. Sam was her son and she adored him. She couldn't make him sound naive and heartless, because he wasn't.

"He doesn't mean to hurt your feelings, Jess," she whispered earnestly. "I know that doesn't help anything, but he really doesn't. If he knew you were this unhappy…"

But she didn't get to finish because Jesse interrupted, "You won't tell him will you?" frantic and distraught.

Mary shook her head, knowing about the need to save face, to not have yourself on display as a vulnerable, insecure mess.

"No," she promised. "I won't tell him."

Jesse looked relieved, but no less distraught. Even as he mopped up his eyes, more tears fell and Mary really wanted to get him in control before he made himself sicker than he already was.

"Calm down," she implored softly. "Calm down, and talk to me."

The old Mary would've never offered to talk to an eleven-year-old at this hour – at any hour. Her life had changed so much since Marshall.

"You don't mind talking?" clearly, he remembered how she used to be as well.

"No," Mary shook her head slowly. "I don't mind."

A small part of her did. She'd been up since five the day before and knew she'd be the one heading back to the office the next day, as Jesse would have to stay home from school with the fever and hang out with Marshall. But still.

Jesse paused thoughtfully, perched on his knees in front of Mary after she'd released him from the hug. But he looked at her, and she was struck by the fact that, while his eyes might be her shade, they held the same trust as Brandi's. Innocence and purity of heart.

"Who's _your_ best friend?" he asked solemnly.

The answer was not hard, especially after she'd been clubbed over the head with such a staggering memory. It had been the same for twenty years. Since before Sam, since before husbands, since before shootings and car chases and nieces and nephews. The reply was always the same. One. One was all you needed.

"Marshall," she told him.

He gazed sadly, like he was trying to understand, "Really?"

"Yes," she assured him. "He was probably the first best friend I ever had."

Now he seemed surprised, unable to comprehend the time frame, trying to work out why there was something unusual about this.

"How old were you when you met him?"

Instinctively, Mary reached out and straightened his T-shirt which was rumpled from sleep.

"I think I was thirty-two," she guessed. "I can't remember exactly."

There was more than surprise in his face now as his aunt doted on him, even as she pretended not to. His eyes were wide. She could see the red rings around the forest green from where he'd cried.

"You _never_ had a best friend before that?" he inquired in disbelief. "Not even when you were a kid?"

This answer was easy too.

"No," she stated simply. "I didn't."

Remembering her former self, she knew that had been a sad state of affairs. But she hadn't lived like a normal child. Nobody wanted to play with the bossy girl with the deadbeat old man, the sloshed mom, and the whining baby. By the time she'd gotten to high school she'd long since learned how to take care of herself and was too busy trying to make sure Brandi end up dead in a ditch to worry about friendships.

After that, she'd become so ingrained in regret over her father and throwing herself into her career that nothing else mattered.

And then there was Marshall.

"Were you and my mom ever best friends like me and Sam?" Jesse went on as all this coursed through Mary's mind.

This was an interesting question, and not one Mary was expecting. What she _did_ expect, however, she didn't know.

"Well…" Mary shrugged. "Not like you and Sam, no. But you know, your mom's a lot younger than I am."

"Six years, right?" he asked to clarify.

"Yeah," she nodded. "I was in the first grade when she was a baby," she didn't mention the reason for this reference, as she didn't like to discuss James. "We didn't get close until later."

Until much-_much_ later. But she also realized this might inspire some hope in Jesse, and he and Brandi, they were just alike that way. They lived on wishes and dreams.

"Jess, when you and Sam get older, things may change and go back to the way they used to be," she suggested. "And honestly, they may not. There's no way to know, bud," she shook her head. "But it's not your fault," she was very serious about that. "It's not your fault at all."

Jesse didn't seem to think this was true and he sniffled, looking sleepy as well as sick. Mary was almost glad for it. He deserved the day off tomorrow.

"Listen…" she placed a hand on his shoulder in an effort to get him to look at her. "Sam may not be your _best_ friend anymore…"

It was hard to say it, but she plowed on.

"But he cares about you," she promised. "And you got me and you got Marshall," she added lamely. "You're stuck with us, man."

He gave her a watery smile then and he slipped back into his pillows, Mary replacing the blankets around him, wanting him to escape his haunting and unfortunate present. No best friend. No mom. No dad. Just a nightmare-induced uncle and a blunt Aunt Mary to take away the pain.

When he was safely ensconced in the bed once more, Mary lifted herself up beside him, nudging in next to the armrest. There, she sat and stroked his hair as he lay beneath her and asked another question.

"You and Marshall were there when I was born, right?"

It was an odd prompt but Mary responded, "We were. Sam too."

Jesse shut his eyes and Mary decided, although he was maybe a little old for bedtime stories, the tale of his appearance might go a little ways toward helping him doze off.

"Your mom was all by herself," she revealed quietly. "Your dad was at a conference and Jinx was at some geeky girly dance show."

He giggled softly.

"So she called me and I was in Kansas with Marshall and Sam visiting Carolyn," she continued. "You remember Carolyn?"

Not knowing about the details of him and Marshall's conversation earlier, "Uh-huh."

"She was very excited that Brandi was going to have a baby," Mary persisted.

Carolyn was so kind that way.

"So we flew back right away to make sure we'd be here in time to see you land."

Jesse was quiet for a moment, nudging his temple into his pillows and pausing to cough once or twice. Mary rumpled his hair as she heard it, hoping to provide some relief. She thought he hadn't taken in what she'd just told him, but he proved her wrong.

"You flew all that way?" he whispered, sliding his eyes open and gazing up at her.

Mary wasn't sure why this was important, so she shrugged, "Yeah. Sure."

But Jesse was adept in helping her grasp the concept. His voice was softer than a whisper.

"Just for me?"

Looking at his face, earnest and rapt with optimism, she was glad she didn't have to disappoint him this time. They _had_ driven through the rain and jumped on the first flight and corralled Sam and spent the entire evening in the hospital. For him – to see him make his appearance. Before they'd even known he was a 'him' and he became the outlaw at just two hours old.

But Mary's response was, "Not _just_ for you."

He furrowed his brow for a fraction of a second before she went on.

"For you. No 'just' about it."

It had been Carolyn who had taught her that, and she imagined that the moment her mother-in-law had done so, Mary's face had looked just as Jesse's did now. Embedded with the comfort of knowing someone loves you enough not to place a stipulation on the back end.

"You sure took your sweet time though, kid," Mary chose to drive on with her story. "Eighteen long hours, but you made it."

Jesse's voice was nearly silent as he posed the final thought that really should've been anticipated. Regardless of being told that he'd been the center of attention so many years ago, he couldn't forget who had held that spot since.

"How long did Sam take?"

Why did he care? What did it matter? Mary longed for him to be himself – to want to be who he was without worrying about Sam. But you couldn't put a price on devotion.

"Nine," Mary stated simply.

With that, Jesse remained still and content and Mary reflected with her words that the two boys had been the same since the very beginning. Although she constantly tried to see their differences and set them apart, they'd held their own camps from the start.

One dark hair, one light. One waves and curls, one straight and narrow. One with eyes of sparkling blue, the other orbs of darkest green. A star student and a late bloomer – confident to inhibited, sweet to sweet.

Nine hours to eighteen.

They'd never changed from the minute they'd walked the earth.

It had taken Jesse twice as long as Sam to do the exact same thing.

**A/N: Gotta love some Mary/Jesse and mama bear Mary with both Jesse and Marshall. She's good! ;)**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Hope you all are staying with me! Thanks for the reviews!**

XXX

The next morning consisted of a very grouchy Mary having to be roused by Marshall at seven. She had fallen asleep sitting upright, her hand on Jesse's head. Jesse himself was submerged, completely buried in his blankets and totally zonked out even when Marshall interrupted.

"Holy God, my back…" Mary groused as she stretched, staring into Marshall's face floating in front of her.

"Shh…" he cautioned, finger to his lips and jerking his head at the dozing figure beside her. "Jesse's asleep."

Mary shook her head, trying to clear her mind, trying to remember why she was even out in the living room in the first place. It came quickly, and she relayed the information to Marshall.

"He needs to stay home," she whispered, standing up and adjusting her pajama top. "He had a fever when I checked on him last night."

"Yeah, I figured when you didn't come back to bed," Marshall guessed, straightening with her. "But you've gotta get to work. I'll stay with him."

Vaguely, Mary recalled that she had made this decision in the wee hours of the morning without consulting Marshall. He'd never stopped being able to read her mind.

"Is Sam up?" she inquired, suddenly feeling as though she had missed a lot just from not having slept in her own bed. She thought herself increasingly out-of-the-loop.

"You see that boy sitting at the island eating cereal?" Marshall joked, as Mary had been gazing right at him without really seeing him. "With the brown hair and the blue eyes and the boyish good looks…"

"All right, all right," Mary grumbled. "It's only seven," she plunged on, her eye catching the clock. "I've got a few minutes."

With that, she strode on past Marshall, not wanting to imagine how she might look in the clear light of day. She went directly to the coffee maker and started brewing herself a cup, before she interrupted Sam's perusal of the funnies over his Alpha-Bits.

"Morning Smush," she greeted him drowsily, reaching for the box to grab a few bites of her own.

"Morning," he replied. Without even pausing to take a breath, "How come you slept out here?"

Mary took her time crunching the cereal to avoid having to answer right away, focusing on the softness of Sam's brown hair, the inquisitive nature of his blue eyes. When he saw her looking, he paused with the spoon halfway to his mouth and waited expectantly.

"Jesse didn't feel good last night so I came out to check on him," she was truthful. "Fell asleep before I could go back."

Sam nodded, accepted the response and finished his mouthful of milk.

"So he's not going to school?" he asked.

"No," Mary replied. "Dad's gonna stay with him."

This prompted a second nod from Sam. It was clear from his attitude that he had not heard what Mary and Jesse had discussed, for which Mary was grateful. Jesse would be humiliated and Sam would be eaten alive by the guilt. Still though, she knew something was going to have to be figured out. Jesse was obviously preoccupied with the situation and it was affecting his schoolwork. She imagined a chat with Brandi was in the works, but that was something that was going to have to be postponed until after WITSEC.

"Your hair's sticking up in the back," Sam reported with a laugh, stretching in his seat to tame the cowlick as Marshall entered.

"Cause _yours_ looks so swanky," Mary accused, eyeing the waves that refused to lie flat.

"I combed it!" he swore, forced to lower his voice when Marshall reminded him with a finger to be mindful of Jesse. "Besides, Jinx thinks I look better with it messy. She said she never wanted a groomed grandson," he dictated.

"Well, then she didn't look very closely at who your father is," Mary rebutted, not stopping to recognize the power this statement had, simply thinking of Marshall's perfectly-styled hair that no amount of wind, rain, or snow could penetrate.

However, the awkward silence that followed convinced her both men had picked up on the reference. Sam stood and took his bowl to the sink, sloshing the milk that remained for amusement. Boldly, he decided to speak up.

"Wasn't Mark gonna fly here this weekend?"

Mary found it odd that they let the situation make them uncomfortable when it was mentioned out of context. Nothing had changed since Sam had learned the truth about Mark. He never felt the need to ask excess questions or spend more time than usual with his biological father. But the times that it snuck up on them often prompted an unprecedented response.

"He might," it was Marshall who responded casually as Mary downed her coffee. "He thought it'd be easier with everyone together for Stan's party."

"Oh yeah, the party!" Sam tried to keep his voice down even in his excitement. "I forgot all about that! You still have to be in the balloon race mom – and any of the other games Delia comes up with."

"I like that idea," Marshall remarked, rinsing his son's bowl. "A little bit of goofy never hurt anyone."

"That's what you think," Mary said in an undertone. To cover up, she appealed to Sam, "Go get your stuff ready. I'm gonna take a shower, so have a good day if I don't see you before the bus gets here."

"Fine," he agreed with a mischievous grin.

As he made his way back into the living room, his eye caught Jesse snuggled within his blankets, his cheeks flushed even at a distance as he breathed serenely through his nose.

"Tell Jesse I hope he feels better," he turned to Marshall.

Mary was unexpectedly moved and she swallowed another gulp of coffee to avoid acting on it. Sam did care. He was a loveable kid, always had been, if a little naive in this situation. This was what made it so hard when you considered how Jesse was feeling. There was no fault on either side.

"I'll tell him," Marshall promised.

"He can sleep in my room if he wants," Sam offered. "If he wants it quiet or something."

Mary looked at him, listened to him, and all she saw was Marshall.

"I'll remember that," the dad nodded. "Thanks Sam."

Mary didn't miss Marshall almost slipping up and calling him sheriff. Sam would not object, but they were both still careful to treat him as the sixth – almost seventh – grader he was. There was no question he was growing up.

"Bye mom," her son added. "See you later," as he disappeared into his bedroom.

"See you tonight Smush."

It was these parting words that caused the usual chain-of-events that occurred before the three of them pitched themselves off to school and work, not without a few unusual occurrences of tiptoeing around Jesse so he could catch up on sleep.

Once Sam was securely on the bus and Mary was en route to the Sunshine Building, Marshall set up camp in the kitchen to get some of his work done while Jesse slept on. His uncle wasn't sure how long he'd been awake the night before, but the lack-of-rest combined with the illness was going to mean he might be out for awhile.

He talked to Peter around 9:30 to inform him of the current state of affairs and although he offered to return home early, Marshall insisted he and Brandi stay put – that he and Mary were perfectly equipped to handle a sick child, and didn't mind doing it either.

Jesse stirred about ten and Marshall urged him up to change his clothes into sweats and a hooded pullover. He set him up watching TV for awhile, but he drifted off before lunch and didn't come around for real until after one o'clock. By that time, Marshall had finished everything he could and was feeling uncharacteristically domestic, making Jesse a snack for when he felt up to eating.

He stumbled into the kitchen, looking a little bleary-eyed but well-rested, so that was something.

"Hey, man," Marshall greeted him over his project, offering him his fist to pound, which he abided at once.

"Hi," he muttered, lifting himself into one of the stools at the island and eying Marshall's concoction. "What are you making?"

Marshall presented him with the blender, filled with vanilla yogurt, ice cubes, milk, and brown sugar. None of it was mixed together, and judging by the look on Jesse's face it wasn't very appetizing.

"What is that?" he wrinkled his nose and Marshall was stunned to see how much he looked like Mary.

"It is going to be a peach smoothie, believe it or not," he informed his nephew. "A proven ticket to a healthier lifestyle, my friend."

"But there aren't any peaches in it," Jesse looked uncertain. "Just ice and…" he swallowed nervously. "…What's that brown stuff?"

Marshall chuckled, "Brown sugar," he reported as he held up the cutting board with the sliced peaches, placing them on the counter at Jesse's elbow with the blender.

The eleven-year-old still looked skeptical at the unadulterated contents, not able to visualize what they would turn into.

"You like peaches, don't you?" Marshall clarified. "I thought it would help with your cough. Is your throat sore?"

"Yeah, kind of," he rumbled in his chest on cue, covering his mouth with his hand. Predictably, he was referring to his throat and answered the original question, "I like peaches, but I never eat the ones at school because they still have brown skins on them."

Marshall started poking at the inside of the blender with a spoon, trying to move the ice down further.

"Why don't you give those the once over before I put them in," Marshall suggested. "Make sure I sliced out all the bad spots."

Jesse did as he was told, eyeing the fruit with some degree of scrutiny, even plucking one off the board and eating it by itself. Marshall was still prodding the cubes so both of them were silent for a moment, until Jesse gave the verdict.

"They look good," he reported. "How come the ones at school don't look like this?"

"The peaches in the cafeteria are likely canned, and therefore have been condensed in water. Although this does not significantly reduce their nutritional value, it may do something for the taste," Marshall stated, as though giving a lesson on the history of fruit. "Those came from a raw peach," he gestured at the slices on the counter.

Jesse nodded, but he didn't seem interested in the answer anymore. Something else was on his mind, and he pondered while Marshall dumped said peaches into the blender with the rest of the mixture.

"How'd you get so smart?" he finally asked.

Marshall paused in thought, which caused a stray slice to miss the blender and land with a plop on the counter. Jesse grabbed it with his fingers and ate it, waiting for Marshall's response.

"You think I'm smart?" ironically, was his less-than-intelligent reply.

Jesse looked bewildered, "Yeah," even incredulous that his uncle might not realize this. "You know everything."

"Well, I'm humbled, Jess," Marshall spouted without thinking. "But I don't know everything."

"You still know a lot," Jesse insisted, shifting in his chair as the conversation deepened. "I kind of wondered if that's why Sam is like…gifted or whatever," he observed. "That's what they call the kids at school that get A's on all their tests and they get to do the assignments that the sixth graders do where Sam goes to school."

Marshall wanted to make sure he understood what Jesse had just said before continuing, but was fairly certain he got it. Smart people always passed and got to do middle school work. Less-than-brilliant individuals did not have the same luck.

"Well…" Marshall tended to start out with that word a lot. "It's true I do…enjoy teaching Sam a lot of things," he admitted. "But I teach him what he's interested in so he'll want to learn more."

He knew this wasn't what Jesse was looking for, so he adopted a different tactic and abandoned the blender, leaning on his elbows on the counter.

"You are who you are, man," he insisted quietly. "You're smart and so is Peter, and so is Brandi."

He wasn't sure why he referred to them by their names rather than as his mother and father, but he'd forgotten, somehow.

As it was, Jesse swallowed a little apprehensively at having his uncle so up close and in personal, but hearing that someone who 'knew everything' was telling him as such made it a little easier to believe.

Sensing that it might be difficult for Jesse to answer, Marshall plunged on recklessly with what he knew had invaded his nephew's mind recently.

"I get…that you miss Sam," Marshall whispered, and he distinctly saw Jesse's eyes go wide. "It is really hard to grow apart from someone, even when nobody is to blame."

This stance, this position, staring down directly into eyes so green and large, reminded Marshall intensely of a sentence he'd spoken so many years before in his desperation to make another set of green eyes grasp what he wanted known.

"_I get…that you don't like messy."_

"But, I want you to be yourself Jess," he emphasized with a particularly strident nod of his head. "You like cars, you like basketball, you are kind and you're considerate and you're _smart_," he reiterated. "Someone will notice that."

It was his final phrase that made Jesse speak through the interrogation.

"What if somebody doesn't?" he inquired softly.

Marshall's answer was not exactly reassuring, but it was the truth.

"Then it is their loss, my boy," he stood back, attending to the smoothie once more. "But no matter what, I'm here and so is Mary," he fiddled with the glass top in the blender, making sure it was secure.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a hint of a smile emerge in Jesse's features.

"Mary said that last night," he revealed, tongue poking through his teeth.

"Did she now?" Marshall mused, snapping the lid in place. "Well, that's quite a step for Mary; I'm proud of her."

"I know," Jesse actually giggled. "She hates all that mushy-lovey-dovey-kissy stuff."

"Right you are, outlaw," Marshall pointed an unwavering finger. "Your intuition is to be admired."

Jesse didn't quite glean the poetry of the words, but they sounded good so he grinned again and let his eyes stray back to the mixture that was about to turn into a smoothie.

"All right…" Marshall announced, rubbing his hands together enticingly and liking the way they had so quickly diminished the serious conversation. "Let's see what we've got here…"

Dramatically, he raised his index finger to the dials, flourishing before hitting the button. He was so busy making a show of things; he neglected to notice Jesse had raised a finger of his own.

"Wait…" he cautioned. "You forgot the…"

But the words came too late; Marshall had hit the puree and, in the absence of the plastic cap in the top of the lid, yogurt and then milk began to spew from the head of the blender. Jesse squealed so hoarsely from his cough that it came out sounding like a squeak and ducked his hands over his head. It was plain to Marshall, however, that he was laughing too.

"Whoa, man the life boats outlaw!" Marshall cried, making Jesse cackle again.

"You forgot the cap!" Jesse shrieked over the whir of the blades.

So blinded by flying milk and vanilla yogurt, Marshall just chuckled as Jesse became dotted in the substance and the younger tried to duck among it all looking for the missing piece.

"Mary always hides that thing…" Marshall mumbled amongst the chaos.

Jesse was laughing hysterically, which was an odd mixture of sounds considering his current condition and croaky tone, but Marshall eventually got his wits about him and hit the off button.

Both of them were breathless when the noise died.

"Suffice it to say, Jess," Marshall reflected casually. "I do _not_ know everything."

This made his nephew giggle another time and he pointed at Marshall's spotty face.

"It's in your hair," he observed.

"It's in yours too," Marshall told him. "Here…"

He reached across to the counter and unwound some paper towels to clean up the mess on the counter as well as on the two of them. Once he was able to leave Jesse mopping himself up, he went in search of the half-circle shape that covered the tunnel of the blender, eventually finding it left astray in an upper cabinet.

Once he replaced the cap, he appealed to Jesse, who was wadding paper towels.

"You better do the honors this time, man."

Jesse smirked and hit the desired button, and ten minutes later they had themselves a whipped, blended-to-perfection peach smoothie, sans spattering liquids.

Marshall grabbed two cups from the cupboards and poured them both a glass, shaking the thick fluid into its containers. Jesse gladly accepted his portion and Marshall raised his glass.

"Cheers Jess."

With a clink, they were off and drinking, Jesse smacking his lips appreciatively. He reflected that he was getting a lot of exposure to new beverages in the last few days – coffee and smoothies all in forty-eight hours.

"It's good," he told his uncle. "Really good. How'd you know I'd like a peach smoothie?"

There was less of the 'how'd you get so smart' variety in this question, more of it mere curiousness and Marshall was pleased he had a decent answer.

"They are one of your mom's favorite things in the whole world," he told Brandi's son. "She and Mary used to get them at some place where they grew up in New Jersey."

"Really?" Jesse asked.

"Indeed," Marshall went on. "But I didn't even know that until you were born. Mary made some for your mom when she brought you home from the hospital."

Jesse seemed to brighten at the memory, recalling what his aunt had told him the night before about everybody making such a fuss when he had joined the family.

"My mom _is_ smart," Jesse declared unexpectedly, going back to what Marshall had claimed not long before. "Mary told me that when I was born, she was all alone but she did it anyway."

He had fabricated that last bit, but who cared?

"If _I'm_ smart like you said…" he still sounded a little uncertain, but determined. "You think I got it from her?"

We all needed something to believe in, Marshall thought.

"I will drink to that, Jess."

**A/N: Hope you enjoyed the Jesse/Marshall moments!**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Look out, Jesse fans! Our story is about to shift!**

XXX

By the time Sam arrived home from school at 3:30, Jesse's fever had gone down and he was well-on-his-way to spending Friday back in class, equipped with leftover peach smoothie. Marshall was glad he was on the mend, because he'd been itching to get out and close an agreement he was making with a sergeant over at ABQ PD, and it was likely Mary would not be home until after six.

So, when Sam arrived and Jesse was up and reading from a stack of old books of his cousin's, the man stole away with the opportunity.

"You guys mind if I head out for about fifteen minutes?" he posed, already reaching for his keys and cell phone, pocketing the latter. "I've got a work thing I need to tie up some loose ends on."

He was trying to be casual, even by himself feeling that Mary was somehow omnipresent. She did not approve of leaving Sam home alone. He'd done it many times between half hours after he got off the bus and before one of his parents arrived at the house, but his mother didn't relish it. Marshall was perfectly comfortable weaning him into the fold of being more independent, but he'd had to drag Mary along for the ride.

"Sure," Sam answered, reviewing some of the books Jesse had borrowed. "But don't tell me not to tell mom because I already know to keep my mouth shut."

"Clever man," Marshall congratulated, jingling his keys. "Won't be long. Don't go all pyro and burn the house down, you two."

"Highly unlikely," Sam spouted with a grin, which was matched by his father's as he exited out the front door.

The slamming of the wooden hatch inspired a silence among the boys, Jesse perusing the old stories, already having become bored with his surroundings. Sam, stationed on the opposite end of the sofa bed, commenced his inspection and sat, fiddling with his fingers absentmindedly. He wasn't sure what to say to Jesse, not really realizing until this moment that they didn't have a lot to talk about. He was pretty sure the younger was still into cars, and he thought maybe he liked basketball, but that didn't get them very far. Sam wasn't much for sports.

"So…" the older proclaimed inarticulately, and Jesse tossed the final book back to its pile. "You…have to go back to school tomorrow?" Sam finished lamely.

Jesse nodded, "Yeah. I think so," he fumbled with his blankets for something to do.

Sam made an attempt to understand with a well-worded; "Bummer" and then he chuckled.

This was a feeble try at best, considering that Sam loved school and would much rather go than stay home and sleep all day, but Jesse was different. School was more of a chore for him.

"Yeah," the blonder said simply in response to this.

Still, Sam felt badly his cousin had been stuck by himself for most of the day, only resting and watching TV, so he thought it might be nice to offer to do something. After all, his homework could wait until later; it never took him long.

"You want to play a game or something?" Sam prodded, thinking this might prompt an easier flow of conversation.

"I didn't know you had any games," Jesse replied unexpectedly. "I didn't think Mary liked them very much."

"Well, she doesn't," Sam admitted. "But my dad does. And they both like card games; that's practically all they did when dad was in the hospital a couple years ago."

Mention of the hospital deterred both boys briefly, but Sam opted to wave it aside in favor of a more pleasant topic of discussion.

"Have you ever played Spit?" he asked eagerly.

Jesse frowned, "What's that?"

"A card game," he reported predictably. "It's fun, and it's fast, and it's not hard – I can teach you."

"Why do they call it Spit?" Jesse inquired apprehensively.

"I don't know," Sam shrugged. "Some people called it Speed; but Spit sounds cooler."

Jesse didn't know what to think about that, so he stayed silent, wondering if Sam's version of 'not hard' was the same as his.

"You want to play?" Sam urged when the other didn't reply.

Jesse wasn't sure what else he was going to do, mostly concerned about how he would appear if he didn't understand the rules or wasn't very good.

Still though, a strange sort of bubble was looming and floating in his stomach. Sam _wanted_ to play with him. He'd asked, hadn't he? The little voice in his head was all the convincing he needed.

"Okay."

"Sweet," Sam replied swiftly. "Come help me find the cards. I think there's a deck in mom's closet somewhere."

With that, both of them clambered off the sofa bed, heaped high with blankets tossed-aside and rumpled pillows. Jesse followed his cousin back to Mary's and Marshall's bedroom, where Sam immediately unfolded the accordion doors that revealed their closet. Jesse was slightly nervous about plunging into realms his own mother usually told him he could not explore, but if Sam said it was okay than it must be.

"I thought I saw dad put some in here last…" Sam muttered as he ducked among the hangers and shoes on the floor.

Jesse glanced up high while Sam searched, trying to be of some help and spot a set of fifty-two, but he saw nothing but some boxes, including a very intimidating one of black steel on the very top shelf.

"What's in there?" he pointed and Sam unearthed himself to see what he was looking at.

"That's mom's lock-box," he reported casually. "It's where she keeps the gun that isn't strapped on her ankle."

Although Jesse knew minimal details when it came to his aunt's and uncle's jobs, this bit of information was a little more unsettling than he cared to admit – and Sam had said it like it didn't matter at all. He already had his head stuck back in the confines, shoving other boxes aside.

"It's not a big deal," Sam went on, maybe sensing Jesse was unnerved. "She used to keep it in the bedside drawer but she moved it when I was born so I didn't touch it accidentally."

Jesse nodded even though Sam could not see him.

"Doesn't your dad have a gun too?" he prodded.

"Yeah, but just one since he doesn't work in the field anymore, and he keeps it at the office if he's not using it."

That was something, and Jesse resolved not to let this bother him as he continued helping Sam try to find the cards with little success. Most of the crates they found were full of junk, and they did a pretty good job of wrecking the closet before coming up empty-handed.

When they both emerged, Jesse resumed a cross-legged position and Sam sat back on his haunches, looking defeated.

It was then that Jesse noticed the tin box on the middle shelf in the back corner. It was shaped like a square, black with stripes of a sort of pink-red color. The lines on the side were beginning to fade, giving it a weathered and beaten-down appearance.

"Did you look in there?" he asked Sam, gesturing in the general location. "That looks small enough for cards."

Sam shook his head and got up to investigate. Shoving the clothes aside, he snatched the tin and pried open the lid without showing Jesse. He came up with a fistful of paper, parchment of a cream shade, some printed with pink flowers around the edges.

"It's just a bunch of notes or something…" he shrugged, about to replace the top when Jesse stopped him.

"I want to see."

"What for?" but Sam sat down anyway and they shared the crate, sifting through the aged pages without really moving them aside.

"What are these?" Jesse asked curiously.

"I don't know," Sam was not really paying attention. "They look like letters to mom. See, there's her name…" he pointed to the top note, dated February 5th, 1978.

Still, something about that date caught his gaze, even if he couldn't quite pinpoint why and he palmed the piece, the texture rough beneath his fingers.

"Huh," he mused, zeroing in on those numbers. "Mom's birthday is the 8th."

Jesse leaned over to get a better look, but the gaze on Sam's face had changed from vastly uninterested, to vaguely curious. Jesse could see by his eyes that he was skimming the words until he got to the signature at the bottom. He ran his thumb over the five letters before speaking up.

"It's from her dad," he shared. "That's weird…"

But something else had begun to click in Jesse's brain, before he could ask Sam why this was weird, because it was becoming more and more obvious what exactly made it strange. This was definitely something he could get a handle on, something he could share, and he wasted no time doing it.

"That can't be right," Jesse declared boldly. "My mom doesn't have a dad."

Sam spun on the spot, looking bewildered.

"What?" he was incredulous. "Of course she does. Brandi's dad is the same as my mom's."

Now Jesse was confused. He knew that was right, because Mary and Brandi were sisters, but he'd just assumed…

"But my mom _told_ me she didn't have a dad," he emphasized. "A long time ago. I asked and she said she'd never had one…"

"But Jesse, everybody has one somewhere," Sam tried to explain. "I think what Brandi meant is that she never _knew_ her dad. Mom told me about him – he left her and Brandi and Jinx when she turned seven; Brandi was just a baby," he tapped the letter to make his point, putting the pieces together at lightning speed. "That's where this letter came from. Mom would've been almost seven in 1978. He must've written this when he left."

Jesse was not following. How had he never heard about this? Why would his mother pretend she didn't have a father? Why did Sam know something he didn't?

Again.

"Why…would he leave them?" he asked in a small voice. "I don't get it…" he admitted ashamedly.

"He was a gambler," Sam responded with another shocking bit of information. "It means that he makes so many bets that he doesn't have the money to cover them," he explained.

Jesse was about to say he knew this already, but he hadn't.

"And gambling is illegal," more good news. "He was on the run from the law. Mom found out he died in a car accident when I was a baby."

Jesse had every intention of responding, but Sam wasn't done.

"Only, I wouldn't ask mom about any of this if I were you," he advised. "She hates to talk about him; it really upsets her."

Oddly, this boosted Jesse's confidence. This might be why Brandi never spoke about this person – it was just too hard. That was a perfectly good reason. Still, he couldn't help feeling nettled that Mary had told Sam so much and Brandi had told him so little.

"Are there more letters?" Jesse posed with this thought, wanting to investigate the contents a little more thoroughly.

"Some…" Sam fisted a second, dated some ten years later.

Together, they combed the words for any interesting factoid, but simply found that James scolded Mary for marrying Mark, which Sam already knew about.

"I wonder why he tells her to take care of Jinx…" Jesse mused as Sam folded that piece and put it away. "She's a grown-up; she can take care of herself…"

"Probably because she was an alcoholic," Sam decided. "Remember?"

Dimly – very-_very_ dimly – in the darkest recesses of his mind, this word was familiar to Jesse. An alcoholic was someone who drank too much – like beer or wine – so much that they couldn't handle it and they did stupid things without thinking. He'd blocked some of that out, not wanting to think of Jinx that way.

Both boys continued their examination of the half-dozen or so letters over the next few minutes, neither one coming up with anything overly interesting, although Sam was curious why his mother had been keeping these artifacts all this time. Mostly, he couldn't believe she'd hang onto this guy who was so clearly a deadbeat and hadn't ever returned to see how she was doing, and simply gave pointless advice about how she should be living her life.

"Mom should throw these out," he declared as he shuffled them back into the tin. "I wonder if he wrote Brandi too."

Something told Jesse he hadn't. And as he pondered that, he noticed a stray slip of paper sitting behind Sam as though it had been tossed aside.

"You forgot one," he said as his cousin was about to place the lid back on.

Sam turned and scooped up the final page, removing it from its envelope.

"This one was on top," he said, shaking it out and smoothing it to read. "I threw it over there on accident."

As each boy held a corner, they recognized that the fabric of this paper was newer – cleaner, somehow, as though it had not been kept in a closet for so long.

But the nature became the least of their worries as they read on, as the words formed new meaning. With each phrase came thoughts unprecedented and uncertainty swirled with every passing breath.

_July 28th, 2009_

_Dear Mary,_

_It is with great regret that I get this letter to you after so many years of not writing. I know how hard it can be to be on your own without someone to guide you along the way. For that, and for so many other things, I continue to ache for the way I left you and your sister. I have seen the ways in which this foolishness of mine has started to catch up with me._

_You know how proud I am of you for being so responsible and trustworthy in aiding your mother and sister. Looking after Jinx can certainly take its toll, but you have risen to the occasion since you were a very little girl when so many others would've simply given up on her. It is a testament to your strength that you have not done so after all these years. _

_However, it has come to my attention that Brandi is making a mistake in who she is choosing to spend company with these days. I know about the perils of being tied to an alcoholic and I fear she is heading down the wrong path with the new man in her life. He will drain her dry and leave her holding the bag and it is my great hope, Mary, that you are able to find a way to reach her. Peter will only bring her down and she needs to start getting her life together very soon._

_I blame myself for the trouble Brandi has been in recently. The fact that she was ever mixed up with lowlife drug dealers – that it went so far as to land her in jail, however briefly – weighs heavily on my conscience. If I had been there for you girls growing up, she might not have strayed down such a dangerous road. However, I am so grateful that she has you to help her because she needs your strong will to help her see between right and wrong. Mostly, I am terribly sorry that you were dragged into such a mess. I know being kidnapped is going to be a serious burden for you in the years to come, and I wish I were in any shape to hug my little girl and make it better._

_I felt it was a prudent time to write to let you know how worried I am about your sister, and express my hope that you will help her achieve what I know she is capable of if only she can see the light. I believe the first step is disentangling her from Peter. Alcoholics do not change, Mary, and you and I know that better than anyone. I am so proud that you have found a man to spend the rest of your life with and I hope you and Raphael will be extremely happy, even if I am not there to see it. _

_Know that I miss you, and I love you sweetheart._

_Dad _

A stunned silence met the conclusion of the letter – seconds, minutes, hours, who knew how long had gone by? Both boys simply sat, staring transfixed at the paper and trying to make heads or tails of the words.

Predictably, it was savvy Sam that spoke first.

"_Brandi_ was in _jail_?"

The phrase hit Jesse like a freight train – hearing it said aloud. This couldn't be right; it could not have happened this way at all. His mother was good and kind and she would never have been in this much trouble.

Sam hadn't even turned to look at him, but appeared completely mind-boggled. Jesse's throat had gone dry as he tried to process everything he'd just read. It was so much all at once and none of it made sense.

His mom could not have been in prison – she was not a criminal, he told himself as he used one of Sam's trademark words. She wasn't on drugs. This man – whoever he was – did not know what he was talking about.

And what did he mean about Peter? Was he talking about his dad? Jinx was the alcoholic, not his father. The man was crazy. Completely warped.

"This isn't true," Jesse finally acted on his denial, shoving himself backwards and away from the note, which Sam lowered upon seeing this. "It's not true at all. He doesn't know what he's talking about…" he shook his head.

Sam glanced at him then, "But it says right there…"

"I don't care!" Jesse said loudly, which made him cough and caused Sam to start at the rise in his voice. "It's a lie! What does he know? My mom doesn't have a dad. She told me she didn't. So he's…"

He eyed the letter with disdain, trying not to look at the calm, rational look on Sam's face. Jesse didn't want to come undone, not in front of his best friend. Not after last night.

"What I don't get," Sam decided to ignore his comments. "Is how he knew about all this. _My_ mom told me she never saw him again after he ditched them. So how could he have…?"

"That's because he _doesn't_ know," Jesse insisted, steadfast and firm. "He's making it up."

The understanding etched in Sam's features didn't make him feel better. It made him feel like an idiot, even if Sam was trying to help him. Why did he grasp what Jesse did not?

"Why would he do that?" Sam asked quietly.

Jesse had no good answer for this, and then a horrible thought struck him. Sam was brilliant and so was Mary – this letter proved it. Look at the way her father doted on her, the way he complimented her. Brandi, seemingly, had been dumb. And Jesse…

"I don't…" he articulated incoherently as he realized this. "I don't understand…"

Anything. He didn't understand anything. If this was for real, why hadn't Brandi told him? Mary told Sam _everything_.

Sam referred back to the letter as though he were being quizzed on its contents for a test in an attempt to aide Jesse's comprehension.

"It says Brandi was 'mixed up' with drug dealers," he reported, and it sounded worse the second time. "And that she ended up in jail. What do you think that means?"

For God's sake, they weren't having an open discussion. How was Jesse supposed to have a clue?

"Why is he talking about my dad that way?" Jesse posed, suddenly feeling more and more hot-under-the-collar by the second. "He wasn't an alcoholic. He must mean Jinx…"

"I don't think he does," Sam shook his head slowly. "Because he mentions Jinx somewhere else. Peter _could_ be an alcoholic," he offered, like this would help anything. "He doesn't drink wine at Christmas and stuff. But that's no big deal, he's obviously not anymore."

No big deal? How could Sam say this was no big deal? According to this man, this person – his _grandfather_? – his mother was doomed to failure and his father was worthless. What did that make Jesse?

His emotion must've showed on his face, and he likely appeared very close to losing it, because Sam powered on.

"Jesse, he's a jerk," he claimed bluntly. "What do you care what he thinks?"

Plenty of reasons, and he was fully prepared to list them.

"Because it means my mom lied!" he shouted unexpectedly.

"Why are you yelling at me?"

"I don't know!" his voice was still up at an unnatural octave. "But that thing, that…it doesn't…" he was getting breathless now, unaware of where his mind was taking him. "My mom was not on drugs…" he insisted. "She's not on drugs – drugs are what stupid people do – they're for stupid people and…"

That same horrible thought again.

However, Sam had quickly lost interest in the ranting and was peering at the letter again.

"Who's Raphael?" he mused to no one in particular.

But Jesse was about to explode. This could not be happening – things were bad enough already. How could they possibly get any worse? And why did all of this have to happen in front of Sam?

"Dude, this sounds like mom was abducted…" Sam reminded him at not the most-opportune moment, pointing out the sentence. "She never told me that."

Jesse wanted to tell _him_ to join the club, but at that moment the key sounded in the front door and both boys jumped. Sam scrambled to reassemble the letters in the tin, but Jesse was too quick for him. He flung his hand out and snatched the one dated July 28th, which definitely got Sam's attention.

"Hey!" he hissed. "What are you doing; you can't keep that."

"Why not?" he snapped back.

"Because it belongs to my mom!"

This was the least of Jesse's worries and apparently Sam's as well, because he was still shoving in the remaining letters, haphazardly and crammed in their envelopes.

"Guys?" Marshall's voice floated through as the front door opened.

Sam passed his cousin a stricken look, but Jesse quickly jammed his desired note into the pouch of his hooded sweatshirt, clamping his crossed-arms over his middle. Sam sprung up and replaced the tin in its original spot, minus one bit of correspondence and plopped back down on the floor just as the bedroom door creaked open.

Marshall stood on the threshold, eyeing them intriguingly, blue eyes darting back and forth.

"Hey…" he murmured uncertainly. "What are you guys doing?"

It took only the briefest of glances between Sam and Jesse to confer. It was with some comfort that, although they had come so far from where they used to be, the ability to share a thought was still ingrained deep within.

Both shook their heads and spoke simultaneously.

"Nothing."

**A/N: Oh man! Hope you guys don't hate me for dropping this bomb on Jesse! About the letters, I thought I remembered the one Brandi tore up being some random one Mary never read aloud, not the one about Mark so hopefully that's not an error on my part!**

**Hope you guys enjoy the shift!**


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Thanks for the reviews! Mixed emotions on the boys finding the letters – hopefully you agree with the way the story progresses!**

XXX

Jesse stewed in stony silence for the majority of the night, not wanting to let even the tiniest hint of what he and Sam had discovered fall onto the table. Mary and Marshall were both so intelligent, they were sure to find out that something had gone astray, and the way Sam kept shooting him furtive glances didn't help.

When the two Marshals retreated to the linen closet to get Jesse some fresh sheets for the night, Sam pounced. Jesse was huddled in the corner of the couch with his knees pulled to his chest, and he just burrowed further having his cousin so close, threatening to break apart.

"Why don't you just ask?" Sam whispered urgently, throwing another glance over his shoulder to make sure nobody was going to stride back into their midst.

"You were the one who told me I couldn't," Jesse accused, chin resting on his knees. "You said Mary doesn't like to talk about…"

He couldn't say the word, couldn't start the chain of events that would make this all real.

"But even so," Sam argued, inches from his cousin's nose now. "You'll never know if you don't ask. And mom will understand…"

"No, she won't," Jesse insisted, but he wasn't sure this was true.

It was the truth that scared him. He was wishing, more and more with each passing second that his own mother was more like Mary. She always told Sam the truth; he was never left out of the loop. Brandi had shielded him somehow and it left him feeling like a complete dope.

"I don't know why you're being so dumb about this…" Sam pressed on, but this was an enormous mistake.

Jesse snapped and flung out of his stance, severely startling Sam. They hadn't fought in a long time, although they used to _all_ the time when they were younger. And that didn't make any sense either. They fought daily as best friends, but hardly ever as mere acquaintances. Apparently, only when it mattered.

"I shouldn't have said…" Sam started to say, but Jesse cut him off.

"Don't call me that!"

"I'm sorry!" Sam pleaded. "Really – I shouldn't have said it! I just meant…!"

"Shut up!" Jesse screamed, and Sam definitely looked taken aback now, but it was this final out-of-range phrase that reached Mary and Marshall.

Both inspectors returned to the scene, Mary looking ruthlessly suspicious, Marshall simply probing, holding a pile of folded sheets and pillowcases. As they took in the scene, Marshall spied Jesse sitting on the edge of the couch and looking uncharacteristically fierce, Sam standing a good distance away and distinctly embarrassed in the presence of his parents catching them like this.

All Mary knew was that she was positive she'd heard the higher-pitched of the two boys shout; 'shut up' which meant the phrase had come from Jesse. She didn't know which she expected it out of less, but her nephew saying it was beyond unprecedented.

"What's going on?" Mary finally spoke as Marshall dumped the linens on the couch.

"You guys fighting?" Marshall added, noting the way they'd been so skittish at dinner.

Neither Jesse nor Sam answered. Sam knew Jesse might never forgive him for spilling the beans, but he wanted to help and he didn't know another way to do it.

Mary, on the other hand, was reflecting over her heavy conversation with Jesse from the night before and wondered if all that pent-up emotion had turned into anger and Jesse had finally lashed out. Marshall wondered the same thing.

However, Mary still didn't have the patience for beat-around and it had always been up to her to lay down the law.

"One of you, out with it," she demanded swiftly. "You've been squirmy since the egg rolls, so let's hear it."

Sam couldn't do it. He couldn't stand aside and watch Jesse shut himself away. He needed to know, for better or worse, he had to know.

When he looked back at his cousin, he saw the merest pinch of an understanding in the blonde boy's face, knowing his hand was going to be shown. But the compassion he viewed inside of Sam didn't ease his mind.

"Sorry Jesse…" Sam whispered before he turned around and faced his mother and father.

Hearing the prerequisite apology, Mary was definitely bewildered and waited for Sam to continue.

"Jesse and I were in your closet earlier – looking for a deck of cards – and we found this old tin in the back…"

Mary sighed, knowing her son did not need to go on. There was only one tin that occupied her closet, and one guess told her that they'd read the letters from her father. But even as she comprehended this, she couldn't quite understand why the snooping had prompted such a violent reaction. There was nothing in those letters that should concern the boys. Sam knew as much as he needed to about James. She could assume Jesse had-had the same exposure.

"Okay…" she replied before Sam could continue, trying to sound understanding.

Mary ventured over and sat on the edge of the coffee table, eyeing Jesse all balled up in the corner, Sam standing at his shoulder. Why did her nephew look like that? Like he was about to lose his low Mein.

"So…you must've seen the letters from my dad," she voiced. "What?" she scanned their faces for a read. "You feeling guilty 'cause you horned in on my stuff?"

She tried to make it sound like a joke, but neither of them cracked a smile. As it was, Marshall joined her on the coffee table, taking a seat at her back, steady and silent.

As Jesse considered the situation, he realized it was much-much easier to just let Sam dole out the details. It might get him what he wanted, even as much as he feared it.

But the words that came from Sam next diverted the topic of discussion somewhere Jesse couldn't have predicted.

"You told me you never talked to your dad after he left," Sam reminded her. "How'd he write you?"

It was Marshall's turn to sigh and Mary felt his hand on her shoulder. She didn't like to discuss her father. It was disconcerting and depressing, even all these years later. Although it had been put in her past and she had long since learned to live without him, those old feelings could come back and cloak her like a patchwork quilt. It was actually somewhat frightening how easily they returned.

"_I_ didn't talk to him," Mary placed emphasis on the first letter. "He somehow kept tabs on me, but he never came back and I had no way of replying to him…"

"Seriously?" Sam became mildly curious. "How would he do that?"

"Smush, he was a skilled felon; God only knows…"

But Jesse had-had enough. He'd had enough of being left out, of being shuffled aside, and this conversation – this one right here – it was living proof. Why did Sam get to stand there and act as though the mere communication was the monumental aspect when the real problem lay in Jesse's pocket?

Marshall saw the flash of his green eyes, so familiar to his wife's, a second too late.

"What is this?" he hollered, prompting an untimely cough as he sprung out of his position for a second time and yanked the letter from the pouch of his sweatshirt.

Mary could only gape momentarily before he blasted on.

"He said in this letter that my mom was in jail and my dad was an alcoholic!" he waved it in her face, his heart thudding positively sadistically in his ribcage at losing control like this. "He's lying! He's a liar!"

Mary was stunned and couldn't even form the words to speak. She'd known Jesse all eleven years he'd been on the planet and she'd never once seen him scream like this. His face had reddened and tears had escaped his eyes, that sensation much more well-known.

And yet, she didn't understand. She hadn't a clue what letter he was referring to. James had never written to her about Brandi's legal ramifications. And where the hell did Peter come in?

"Jess, what are you talking about?" she murmured, trying to stay calm. "Give it to me; let me see it…"

He just let it hang there, limp and lifeless, until Mary had enough sense to reach out and slip it from his fingers. He was panting like he'd just run a race, and she was worried about his ability to stay upright considering that he'd recently had a fever.

Still, she left them to their devices and read the letter in question, knowing Marshall was doing the same over her shoulder.

She tensed with every single syllable; it was like being hit in the head with a sledgehammer. How on God's green earth had she not remembered this? It had arrived at the house just over a month after Brandi had been arrested, when her and Peter had started getting a little more serious. She had never showed it to anyone, in keeping with tradition when it came to James' correspondence. It had not come at a favorable time either. She and Marshall had been having a horrible week after she'd told Raph about her job – that explained why he was mentioned.

As the memories flooded and she tried to keep her breathing steady, she could not understand what had happened to her brain. How had this not penetrated at any moment in the last fifteen-odd-years? Why hadn't she remembered until now?

But that was when she realized she had to put all this confusion aside.

Jesse. Oh God, Jesse.

He couldn't have known about Brandi's former transgressions. He wouldn't be acting like this if he did.

"Jesus…" she fell into step automatically, shaking her head, shutting her eyes and trying to figure out the best way to address this.

Was it even her place to do so? Wasn't it Brandi's?

When she looked up, she saw that Jesse's tears had become full-blown and his lower lip was quivering dangerously. She was sure they came from the pent-up stress he'd been dealing with all afternoon and was about to reassure him when he bubbled over again.

"I yelled at you…" he trembled as he confessed. "I yelled at you and I…" he was feeling worse and worse at every moment. "I yelled at Sam too…"

"It's fine, buddy," Marshall assured him gently before he could get anymore worked up. "Don't worry about it."

"Yeah Jess," Mary reinforced, and Marshall speaking had recalled her to the fact that she needed a second with him before they went any further, and she couldn't do that with Sam and Jesse standing there.

"Calm down," one of her favorite phrases. "Both of you go get changed for bed and then we'll talk," she advised. "Jess, you can use our room if you want."

Jesse nodded agreeably, still obviously very shaken by having unloaded on his aunt, uncle, and cousin. Sam escaped without a word, and Mary took care to pat Jesse's arm as he exited too.

Once she was certain both bedroom doors were closed, she was up, off-and-running without even pausing to take a breath. She leapt from the coffee table and whirled around to face Marshall, waving the letter around like a white flag.

"I didn't know I had this!" she exploded in an undertone.

"How's that?" Marshall was calm.

"I don't know!" she was trying very hard to keep her voice down. "I have no idea! What's the matter with me – why don't I remember?"

Marshall had to admit it was very peculiar and he stuck out his hand in hopes that Mary would give him a closer look at the piece of paper. She thrust it in his face, eager for answers. The sooner she figured out why she'd had no memory of the occasion until now, the sooner they could figure out what to do with poor Jesse.

Marshall was quiet as he scanned the contents again, looking for a pertinent fact that might help him understand.

"Take me through what you've come up with since you saw it again," he instructed. "What was happening at the time?"

Mary sighed, sweeping her hair out of her eyes, and started to pace.

"It was a couple weeks after Brandi went to the hoosegow and got off…" she began. "Peter was around…" she babbled. "And you and I, we were fighting because I was a complete moron and blabbed to Raph about…" she didn't need to finish that sentence and pressed on. "It came the day after we got home from camping out in that hovel hotel with the fake Phillip Ashmore…"

But Marshall had it. He'd had it from the mention of Raph and the silent mention of WITSEC.

"It's dated July 28th which means, depending on where he sent it from, it got to Albuquerque around August 1st or 2nd, right?"

"I guess…" Mary wasn't tracking.

Marshall was obviously perplexed as to why she hadn't picked up on it and he stared right into her eyes upon revealing the blow.

"Mare, you were shot on August 9th."

And now it made sense. It all fell into place and it was both a relief and a travesty. That arrogant quack of a doctor had told her parts of her memory might never return, especially those surrounding the immediate days prior to the shooting. Near as she could dig up, she couldn't recall ever looking at that letter past her first encounter. Although she never would've said at the time, it had made her angry the way James had trashed Peter and acted like Brandi was an imbecile. It had gone in the box and never come out – literally or figuratively.

But what the hell was she going to do now that Jesse had found it?

"I can't believe this…" she muttered, covering her eyes with her hand. "Jesus Christ…" she repeated from earlier. "I never would've kept that thing if I'd known…"

Marshall's gentle and rational tone brought her back to earth, reminded her not to flip her lid and to look at him dead-on for guidance.

"Don't dwell on this and waste time blaming yourself," he advised. "What's done is done and you didn't realize," he emphasized. "We need to talk to Jesse. It's clearly bothering him…"

"Brandi needs to talk to him," Mary jumped right on board.

And the fury came – it washed over her in droves, an encircling heat just like the recollections of James. What was the matter with Brandi? How could she not have told Jesse something as important as this – such a significant part of her past? If it were her she'd have told Sam as soon as possible, as she refused to hide anything prudent from her child. Her sister was delusional thinking she could guard Jesse from something of this magnitude.

"His _mother_ should be the one who talks to him," she saw Marshall sigh but he didn't speak. "She should've said something _eons_ ago. Now look where we've landed…"

"Don't do this," Marshall implored, but Mary was scarcely listening.

"This is just like Brandi…"

"Mare, don't…"

"Leaving me holding the bag…"

"Babe, Jesse trusts you; you can't sit here and act like his mother…"

But both of them shut up at the sound of opening doors – first one and then the other. They stumbled apart, not wanting to appear at odds. Sam wandered in slowly, looking as though he didn't really care to be a part of this any longer now that he'd set everyone off. Jesse was looking distinctly bedraggled and red-rimmed around his eyes, apprehension at in its highest form.

Mary didn't know what to do. She hadn't had enough time to discuss it with Marshall. This was so typical. James was still ruining everything, even decades beyond his time.

How little could she reveal before she got Brandi to fess up? How much would Jesse accept?

"I…I think I'm gonna go read before bed…" Sam suddenly interjected, proving Mary's thought that he didn't need to be here any longer.

"You sure?" Marshall posed as his son wandered in fully to say goodnight.

"Yeah," he nodded; content with the bits of information he had, able to live with the pieces about Brandi on another day. "Night dad."

Marshall reached out and cuffed his shoulder, "Sleep well, sheriff."

The last word had a pinched quality to it, like he'd caught it too late.

"Sorry, I forgot…" Marshall pulled away from him, but Sam shook his head kindly.

"It's okay," he assured him. "Goodnight mom."

"Love you Smush," was Mary's reply as she shifted from foot-to-foot awkwardly, eyes on the ground and letter stuffed under her arm.

Sam nodded then and made the walk back to his bedroom, passing Jesse on the way, who was leaning in the arch to the hall. Sam obviously didn't know what to say, but offered his cousin a meager half-smile before bidding the hasty retreat and shutting the door behind him.

The absence of Sam was met with an awkward silence for the remaining three. Jesse didn't move until Marshall simply raised his hand and beckoned him further without speaking. Slowly, he shuffled on the hardwood and steered himself onto the couch. Marshall couldn't help noticing he still had an oddly brutal look on his face, the green of his eyes somehow darker and more sunken. No eleven-year-old should look like that.

His uncle opted to sit at his elbow while Mary occupied the coffee table. With a painful jolt, she was reminded of when she'd told Sam that Marshall had been shot. Peter had been sitting where Marshall sat now, but Jesse's face was doing her in. There were too many horrifying memories for her brain to handle at the moment.

"I think we should call your mom and talk about this, man…" Marshall decided before Mary could open her mouth.

What good would that do? Mary wondered. This kid had been kept in the dark long enough and her instincts at wanting her children to have the whole truth and nothing but the truth were not being successfully squelched.

"No," Jesse's voice was soft, but he clearly had the same feeling.

"No?" Marshall repeated.

Jesse stared straight at Mary, pleading drawn in every single line of his confused face.

"Just tell me," seemingly, he did not even notice Marshall any longer and there were tears in his voice. "Please…" he whispered. "Is it true?"

Mary could not rein this in. She could not bury the need to tell him everything, even as she knew he needed Brandi to give him the details. It wasn't her place. But he was here in her house and he was begging for understanding. She'd never dealt with that face on Sam.

"It's not fair…" he whispered. "Sam knows everything and I don't know anything – I didn't even think mom _had_ a dad…"

This was a good diversionary tactic and Mary grabbed hold at once.

"Did Brandi tell you that?"

Jesse nodded, "I remember asking her why she didn't ever see her daddy and she said, 'Some people don't have a dad that visits and takes care of them and loves them, and I'm one of those people.' Or something like that…I mean I was really little, but…"

His voice trailed away, his eyes darting back and forth across Mary's. She figured a little truth on this front couldn't hurt and decided to press on.

"Well, Jess…" she began. "Our dad – mine and Brandi's – he was a criminal…"

"Sam told me," he interrupted, and Mary guessed he'd gleaned this not long before.

"And he left us when I was seven years old and he never came back," she continued. "Brandi was about a year old; she doesn't remember him."

"So, he didn't love her?" Jesse cut in unexpectedly. "He loved you and that's why he wrote you instead of her?"

He couldn't be sure Brandi hadn't gotten a similar set of letters, but some intuition inside doubted it.

Mary was looking distinctly uncomfortable at this, and there was no Marshall to help her this time. What did he know about the workings of James' mind? For that matter, what did _she_ know?

"I…I really don't know, Jess," she offered stupidly. "But whatever he was thinking, it doesn't matter," she decided. "He didn't deserve either one of us."

Mary had started to believe that a little more freely with each passing year, but the fact that she still had the letters after all this time still said she was hanging on.

"That's what it was," Jesse declared, maybe not even having listened to Mary. "He didn't love my mom because she screwed up and was stupid and that's why I'm stupid…"

It was Marshall who shut him up.

"That is _not_ true," his voice was dangerously low as he tried to catch Jesse's eye. This kid had not needed another blow to his self-esteem. "You are _not_ stupid and neither is your mother."

"Stupid people do drugs," Jesse insisted. "That's what they tell us at school and that letter says my mom was in jail because she did drugs!" his voice climbed with every word.

"Jesse listen…" Mary began, but he was through being understanding.

"Tell me the truth!" he cried, looking increasingly sickened and desperate. "Please!" he begged. "Please, I want to know! You tell Sam the truth about everything; why can't you tell me?"

His green eyes met Mary's – a matching set – and he was breaking her down against her will. She was going to kill Brandi.

"Was she in jail?" he murmured, droplets leaking around the corners of his eyes.

Seeing him look so deeply miserable, Mary lost control of the buffer. Her disdain for her father, her anger with Brandi, it all came undone and she couldn't keep the facts from Jesse any longer.

"Yes, she was."

The horror on his face was paramount, but now that one admission was out there, a whole slew of others came with it.

"But it was for _one_ day," Mary tried to ignore Marshall's sigh and the hand that covered his eyes. "_One_ day, Jesse; that's _it_. And she was not _on_ drugs – she wasn't, I swear to you man, she was not on drugs…"

"So she was innocent?" the terror washed aside so briefly so make room for the hope. "They had the wrong person?"

Not exactly.

"She was fooling around with the wrong people Jess…" was the best way Mary could describe it. "They tried to get her to do something – something that _was_ stupid," she confessed. "And when she realized it was wrong she backed out but the chain of events had already been started…"

The chain of events that had led to two dead agents, Mary being abducted, her house ripped to shreds, dead Chuck, sweet blood, resulting in nightmares for years upon years afterwards.

"What happened?" Jesse pressed. "How did she…?"

He wasn't getting details because that involved Mary's job and they couldn't go there.

"She was released, Jess," Marshall attempted to brush over it.

"They didn't just let her go!" the eleven-year-old declared, proving he was in no way idiotic. "It doesn't work like that! Sam said…!"

But the realization hit him even as he spoke, all those thoughts of coming from the blundering side of the family and Sam the perfect one. It fit like a glove.

"Did you get her out?" he asked Mary. "Because you're a Marshal?"

It was easier not to lie when he came to the conclusion himself.

"I did," she told him.

This was not as reassuring as it might seem. Mary had saved her – that was all there was to it. It did not make her any less guilty.

Marshall, however, disliked this with every beat of his heart. It was Brandi who needed to give her version of events. When she found out Jesse had been clued in without her knowledge she was not going to be happy.

"Let's call your mom," he suggested another time, putting an easy hand on Jesse's shoulder in hopes of steadying him. "I'll talk to her…"

Him. Him – not Mary. He didn't imagine that was the best idea right now.

"And then you two can get this cleared up, okay?" he finished.

"She won't tell me the truth!" Jesse was adamant, gaze still locked in Mary's. "Not like you will!"

Mary was weirdly touched by Jesse's faith in her, how genuinely he looked to her for the answers. Part of her obsessive need to give Sam the truth at every turn had to do with the fact that there was one very big aspect of her existence he would never know anything about. Therefore, she thought he deserved as much else as she could give him, but Jesse was different. He didn't live the same life and he never had.

"What do you mean she was with the wrong people?" he persisted before Mary could reply. "What kind of people? What did they want her to do?"

This was getting so dangerously in-depth Mary was now afraid to respond. He was so upset already, and she could tell by Marshall's continual attempts to get Brandi on the phone he didn't want her to keep at it.

"It was a long time ago," her husband interjected. "It was a long time ago and people make mistakes – they change and with enough support…" his blue eyes found Mary's. "They can lead a better life and that's what your mom did."

Mary would not have chosen to put it this way, too worked up about Brandi withholding the information to give her much credit.

"But what about my dad?" Jesse had forgotten all about him until this moment. "He's in there too…" he jerked his head at the note in Marshall's hand. "And he was an alcoholic like Jinx…"

"And you've seen Jinx," Marshall drove on rationally while Mary shifted uncomfortably. "You've known Jinx your whole life, bud, and she's a good person, right?"

Mary wouldn't have known how to respond to such a prompt, but Jesse just shrugged.

"Being an alcoholic is like being sick," Marshall explained when he didn't answer. "It's something you can't control, and those people can't drink at all because they don't know how to stop," he detailed. "They have to get help to learn how to deal with it and Jinx did that, and so did Peter."

Peter wasn't really an enormous worry for Jesse at the moment. Knowing Jinx helped put those pieces together in seeing him as a decent, law-abiding individual.

"When did Jinx get help?" he asked unexpectedly.

Marshall wasn't sure, and flicked his eyes to Mary's to see if she remembered.

Sighing, she answered, "I guess it was actually a couple months before I got that letter," she nodded. "She had to go to what they call a rehab facility because…her drinking had gotten her in some trouble."

Jesse hadn't known it could be that serious, and powered on with his questionnaire.

"My dad too?"

Mary shook her head, "I don't know," she was extremely direct. "I would assume so, but he had already gotten help when Brandi met him. I've never seen him drink."

Marshall thought this had gone far enough. They'd given their input and it was time to leave it to this boy's parents. He was their heart and soul and he deserved his answers from them.

"I'm going to call Brandi," he was much more firm on his third attempt, and he stood to make it even more thorough.

When he didn't receive an objection this go-around, he went to retrieve his phone from the counter, stepping out of earshot of the other two to relay to Brandi what had happened.

Jesse just sat there, weeping softly and looking so dejected Mary wanted to flood him with life and vigor. He had always been such an easy kid, just doing whatever anybody told him, pure and plain no matter how he got kicked around. She felt as she had with Sam when Marshall had been hurt. It was so unfair.

Without speaking, Mary brushed his gorgeous blonde hair out of his watery eyes and was disconcerted to find that his skin was warm. In all the chaos, his fever had ratcheted up again. She was sure he was fine, even for school the next day, but the added anxiety hadn't helped anything.

"I'm really sorry about all this Smoosh," she whispered sincerely. "It sucks – I know it sucks."

She did know. Having to fight through all this had brought that one fateful day back in a fleet – Brandi sobbing in the courtroom, Jinx frantic and distraught, her bawling on Marshall's shoulder on the roof of the Sunshine Building, being a complete bitch to Stan and to Eleanor as she tried to maintain composure, fix it, and make it all better.

Just as she had to do for Jesse now.

She absolutely knew.

**A/N: Time will tell, huh? ;) **


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: Much appreciation for the reviews. Although I can't help feeling with all the amazing spoiler clips I saw today that this story seems a little (okay very) lackluster in comparison. Nothing like the real thing! So excited our beloved IPS returns on Friday.**

XXX

Thus ensued a very long night in the Mann-Shannon household. For Mary, it was torturous, nearly as bad as all those nights she'd spent in the waiting room in the ICU four years before. She and Marshall told Jesse to take the phone back to their bedroom so he could speak to Brandi in private. This left them by themselves in the kitchen, little to say because they were both, even against their will, trying to hear Jesse's end of the conversation behind the closed door.

Miraculously, she could hardly decipher a sound. He wasn't yelling, screaming, shouting, or hollering and although this should've been a comfort, to Mary it was not. It probably meant he was crying, but she cared too much about not embarrassing him to venture closer to the door to find out.

And being on this end of things, it gave her more and more time to brew over Brandi, and she was becoming more agitated as the evening wore on. Everything that had gone on all those years ago contributed to a significant, vital part of Brandi's past. The more Mary thought about it, the more she realized it was no small matter at all. It had led to all sorts of convoluted scenarios – Raph getting rid of the meth, that bastard Agent O'Conner, even Lauren the mysterious half-sister that had never darkened their doorstep since. Mary had killed a man on top of these circumstances and kept out of basements from each day forward.

Just wait until she got a hold of Brandi. She was in for an earful.

It was close to eleven by the time Jesse emerged with the phone face-up in his palm. He looked absolutely awful. His eyes were bloodshot, cheeks flushed, even his hair tousled in the back.

Both Mary and Marshall stood from the island and approached him as he held the cell out.

"Mom wanted to talk to you before I hung up," he murmured flatly.

Before Mary could seize it, Marshall slid swiftly in front of her and took it. He knew just what she was thinking and wasn't going to let it happen tonight.

"Thanks man," he replied. He turned to Mary and added in an undertone, "Put him to bed. Please."

It was logical and she couldn't fight it, so she flashed him her most dangerous glare before taking Jesse around the shoulder and guiding him to the sofa. He was already in his pajamas from when she'd gotten rid of him earlier.

He was mute as he climbed onto the sofa bed and worked the blankets up around his chin with Mary's help. He looked tiny inside his covers, coughing a few times but it was looser and this convinced Mary he was getting better – physically, at least.

He opened his mouth as soon as he was secure.

"I don't want to talk about it."

If _anybody_ could relate to that sentiment, it was Mary.

"Then I'll shut up," she told him. "And say goodnight."

She kissed his forehead, back to its normal temperature, but couldn't help feeling heartless just leaving him after the conversation he'd just had. How was he supposed to sleep at all?

"She told me everything," he whispered blankly, the evidence of complete shell-shock in his eyes. "I think," he added.

"Yeah?" Mary wasn't sure what to say, trying to remember he hadn't wanted to have a discussion.

His voice was like wind in the grass as he rattled it all off in a single breath.

"She was dating some guy named Chuck and he was trying to set up a drug deal and she wanted to help him and so she met these people at a hotel but when she saw the kind of people they were she called the police…"

He was forced to stop to cough, but Mary just let him ramble on.

"But those people knew more drug dealers and they were mad because they didn't have their drugs because of her and they killed two policemen and they thought she had something to do with it so they ruined this house looking…"

His eyes roved the ceiling.

"And they arrested her later and you helped show she hadn't done anything wrong and she got to come home, but she was maybe going to go to prison for the rest of her life."

Mary's first thought was that she was amazed Jesse had remembered it all, and in such vivid detail. Her second was that Brandi had conveniently left a few things out – such as Chuck being murdered with Mary chained to a post right next to him.

"Sounds about right," she said anyway. "That all?"

"There were a few other things…" a single tear slipped from his eye and he pulled out a hand from beneath the covers and brushed it away angrily.

"But I don't want to talk about it," he said again.

"Okay," Mary promised. "Try to get some sleep," she advised.

He looked dispiritedly melancholy and so she tacked on something else.

"Jesse, I love you," she felt the silky strands of his blonde hair again. "Don't forget it, or else."

She fed him a teasing grin and he didn't smile back, but nodded in acceptance as Mary pulled the chain to kill the lights, sweeping him the half-glow from the kitchen.

Meanwhile, Marshall was trying to keep Brandi rational and also quiet her down so he could get rid of her before Mary requested a turn and was sure to unload with magnificent venom.

"Marshall, I ruined _everything_…" she moaned, and it was obvious she was crying as well. "He _hates_ me…"

"No, he doesn't," he assured her quietly. "He's angry and upset but we'll work through it…"

"He was already in such a spiral," she continued in anguish. "He misses Sam so much, he's had such a hard time making friends and with his schoolwork and now this…"

There was a pause while she attempted to compose herself, but the sobs still made their way through the speaker.

"Marshall, I feel so terrible that you and Mary have to deal with this," she apologized.

"Oh, I wouldn't worry about Mary," Marshall cut in casually. "It's embedded in her skin to deal with situations like this; she's in her element, no matter what she says."

That was his way of telling her, even silently; that he ascertained Mary was not happy with her and needed time so she wouldn't blow up on her baby sister. It would only make things worse.

"Listen, I want to pack up early and get out of here – Peter does too – but I don't think we can tomorrow…" she told her brother-in-law. "But we should be able to get out Saturday morning…"

"That's fine," Marshall assured her. "It'll give everyone a day to cool off."

"All right," she was clearly grateful to be understood but still shaken by the turn of events. "I am sorry Marshall…really, I am…"

"I know you are," he promised. "Get here when you can and we'll look after Jesse. He's a resilient kid; it's just a lot all at once."

"I never wanted him to find out about this," Brandi went on. "I knew he'd react this way and I didn't want him to think that I…"

Her voice trailed away, and Marshall knew she was feeling selfish for having her own motives about keeping the truth from Jesse. But for as long he'd known Brandi, she'd wanted to conceal her past from whomever might come knocking. First with Peter when she'd been arrested in the first place, and then again later when she was suspected in the car-theft-ring shortly after they'd been engaged. But there were just some skeletons you couldn't bury and although he might've told his child if it had been him, there was a time and a place and it wasn't his business anyway.

"Can I talk to Mary?" Brandi suddenly interjected with her blunder.

Marshall hedged as he watched his wife tenderly kiss Jesse's forehead.

"I don't think tonight is…really the best time," he said honestly.

"I knew she'd be pissed," was Brandi's blunt response.

The part of Marshall that defended Mary to the bitter end wanted to say he hardly blamed her but again, the timing was not good and it was getting late.

"Tomorrow maybe," he offered.

"Marshall, I need her to stay close to Jesse," she declared at once. "He listens to her; compared to Mary I'm nothing but a blip on the radar where he's concerned…"

Marshall couldn't help appreciating Jesse's devotion.

"Brandi, you're his mother," he saw Mary wrapping up her discussion with Jesse and knew he needed to do the same. "Whatever happens, you're still his mother; he loves you and nothing changes that."

She sensed the finality of his tone and concluded, "I guess I'll talk to you tomorrow about when we're able to get on the road."

"Just let us know," he agreed. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight Marshall."

He hung up just as Mary swooped in, eyes glinting menacingly but demanding in a hushed tone so Jesse could drift off.

"Did you let her go?"

"Yes," Marshall was direct. "You two can talk tomorrow."

She didn't bother to hide her annoyance at being reined in from such a thing. Viewing Jesse as this big of a mess was making her sister's actions seem a thousand times worse and Marshall knew it.

"I don't like seeing you this way," he was brutally honest when he had to be, even quietly calm in the presence of their guest.

"What way is that?" she hissed.

"Jumping down Brandi's throat – it scares me how easily you step back into that."

Only Marshall could get away with being so frank, for facing her with her demons and indelicacies head on.

"Who said I'm jumping down her throat?" she murmured, irritated.

Marshall merely raised his eyebrows – no words needed. The ability to read one another's mind was both a blessing and a curse, only Marshall wasn't really sure which at this point.

"It's time for bed," was his round-about reply.

Mary sighed at the diversion, but didn't feel up to fighting it.

"I think I'm gonna stay up and work a little while…" she cast the silent Jesse a furtive glance, wanting to stay nearby until he fell asleep but not wanting him to be self-conscious.

"Okay," Marshall saw it for what it was, reaching over to peck her cheek. "Don't be too late."

"Yeah," she agreed before stopping to share a kiss of her own, on his lips this time.

He exited without another word and Mary took up residence at the table in the corner, snapping every single lamp off except for the one above the sink which gave her just enough light to work by. It didn't exactly matter – her mind wasn't with it and she was sincerely hoping Jesse would be able to shift into dreamland soon so she could go to bed herself. It had been a long, stressful day and she would surely need her wits about her for tomorrow.

It was around 11:45 that she recognized her nephew's rhythmic breathing, which meant he had indeed drifted off and Mary was grateful. He needed the escape.

She stacked her papers, slid them into their desired folder, and stood up to place them back in her tote which she'd left on the counter. With that, she diminished the final light and tiptoed down the hall, rubbing her eyes in her fatigue. She was imagining the feel of the sheets on her skin, the gentle up-down of Marshall's chest beside her, when she heard his voice.

"Mom?"

She stopped dead in her tracks at the sound, but he was too calm, too sedate for this to be spontaneous. She knew her son. He'd been waiting up on purpose, pinpointing the exact moment to ambush her after all the others had crashed out.

Reluctantly, she turned the knob and stuck her head in.

"What is it Sam?"

He didn't speak at the sound of her whisper, forcing her to come all the way inside, shutting the door part-way in hopes of keeping everyone else to their subconscious. She slid onto the edge of the bed near Sam's stomach and saw him watching her even through the darkness.

"What?" she persisted.

Now that he had her, he wasted no time.

"I read that letter too you know."

"And?" she had no idea why this was pertinent.

There was a brief lapse then when Sam's eyes strayed away from hers, but he knew better than to become evasive in front of his mother.

"You were kidnapped?"

Only the smallest hint of a question resided in there – it was so close to a statement it could barely be disputed. Mary could just picture Sam and Jesse reading the document as they put the pieces together, as Jesse became distraught and Sam got an even broader view.

But she couldn't tell him. She couldn't, could she?

"It was a long time ago, Smush," she fell back on Marshall's words from earlier.

"Did they hurt you?" he asked.

He sounded young then – the way he'd sounded as a very little boy. His voice hadn't quite started to lower yet, but in every other way she couldn't help noticing how much he was growing up. She missed that little boy sometimes.

"You really want to know?"

The whole truth and nothing but.

"Yes."

It was what he responded to – it was how he'd been built. How could she expect him to want anything less after all this time? She'd never wanted him in the place where Jesse was now.

"I was at the theater downtown and when I came out the stage door, a man put a rag over my mouth that had chloroform on it, and that made me pass out."

She could hear the laughter, the 'Inspector Shannon' ringing in her ears, the way the crude graffiti had blurred before her eyes.

"When I came to, I was chained to a post – my arms above my head – in a basement," she went on as smoothly as she could. "The men who were holding me…" she paused briefly, but pressed on. "They eventually killed someone else they'd abducted and they…"

She had been about to say, 'They planned to kill me next' but she couldn't. She couldn't say that to her son. It was hard enough skating over the fact that it had been Brandi's doing and the 'someone else' had been Chuck.

"Well…I was able to pry myself free from a loose nail and…" she shrugged in an aloof sort of way. "Stan and your dad showed up not much later."

It wasn't the whole truth at all. She was better appreciating Brandi's difficulty with revealing such a sordid part of your past, even if it wasn't your own fault. She could not bear to have Sam hear all the details – she'd murdered her captor, she'd almost been raped. He had only recently had the sex talk. That alone was astonishing enough.

"Sam, there are two things in my life I really don't like to talk about," she whispered. "My dad – and this."

She didn't ask for his understanding often and prayed this was one of the times he would just accept it. However, his mind clearly veered at the mention of James and it was her doing for bringing him up.

"Why did you keep those letters?" he asked, shifting in his comforter. "Why do you even want them? If he upsets you so much, I don't know why you want anything to do with him."

If Mary hadn't known better, she'd have thought Sam was scolding her for being so foolishly childish about James. But he was like his father, so that meant he probably was.

"I don't like the way he talked about Brandi and Peter, no matter what they did," he declared before Mary could answer. "I mean, Brandi is his kid and if he loved you _so_ much, why did he leave in the first place?"

The way he placed sarcastic emphasis on the 'so' convinced Mary he _was_ chastising her, if in his own unique way.

"He sounded like a jerk to me," he concluded.

Well, he was. He always had been, and Mary knew it. She didn't know what was the matter with her, why she was unable to let go. She felt she'd done everything she could on her own terms, of not needing her father anymore, but that love he'd claimed had resided until the bitter end, she still held it within even if it wasn't worth a damn thing.

"Go to sleep, Smush," she advised to avoid any more talk of it tonight.

She bent and kissed his forehead, just as she'd done with Jesse, and stood to head to the door. Her hand curled around the knob when she heard him again.

"Mom, I hope you're not still scared," he said. "Of what happened to you."

Well, she kind of was, but it was sweet. _He_ was sweet. He was Marshall's boy.

"Don't worry about me Sam," she murmured as she opened the door. "I know how to take care of myself."

A distinct and tired sigh escaped her son.

"Since you were seven, right?"

That age, it was everything. Everything disastrous stemmed from that fateful day in February decades ago and with a jolt, she realized she had taught this to Sam. He'd finally seen it for what it was, and it was holding his mother behind.

"Yeah…" she said softly. "Right."

**A/N: Thanks for sticking with me! XOXO**


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: Just a few days to the IPS premiere! So excited! Hope you guys are still hanging onto this even though I assure you I don't presume to believe it's any better than the real thing!**

XXX

Mary absolutely dreaded sending Jesse to school the next morning. He hadn't gotten enough sleep, he was coming off a sick day, and he had far too much to think about to be expected to concentrate. But she didn't believe anything would be gained from keeping him home to dwell, and it was Friday. If nothing else, he had the weekend ahead to fester and Brandi and Peter were set to return Saturday morning.

Marshall had a whole slew of meetings set up for most of the morning, which left Mary at the office with Stan. Delia was out on assignment with some of the inspectors from the floor below, for which Mary was grateful. She'd come to appreciate her alone-time with Stan even more now that he was set to sail into the sunset.

The sun was warm as it streamed onto her back where she sat at her desk – spring was slowly fading into the background to make room for those pesky summer heat waves through June, July, and August. Stan wore his shirt-sleeves rolled up when he stepped out of his office.

"You get that MOU double-checked, kiddo?" he asked, peering at the heap on her desk.

She'd been hearing more and more 'kiddo's' and 'sweetheart's' as the day to his retirement party neared.

"For Hoity-Toity what's-his-name?" she inquired without looking up.

"Sloan Peterson," he offered. "Yes. I need to fax it downstairs."

Mary rummaged briefly through her many belongings before coming up with the one he wanted and held it out for Stan to take. He slipped it out of her fingers, not without a well-timed pause at why she wasn't meeting his eyes.

"Something on your mind?" he prodded, reminding Mary of herself with Marshall a few nights before in trying to get him to open up.

Mary gave an unconvincing shrug, but Stan had become about as adept as Marshall in waiting her out for the opportune moment when she might crack and give in. She allowed herself another couple seconds of scratching her pencil before glancing up.

Stan was very calm, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet.

"There's some…" she held off briefly and then continued. "…Shit going down with Brandi," she finished less-than-poetically.

"You're kidding," Stan was clearly in disbelief and he quit rocking, stepping closer to her desk. "She's been the perfect law-abiding citizen for what – fifteen odd years? You're not telling me she got herself jammed up again."

"First of all, perfect is an _enormous_ stretch," Mary wagged a disapproving finger, in the back of her mind recalling Marshall's worry that she was reverting so quickly into scolding Brandi.

"Second of all, no she is not tangled up again so cool your jets, old man," she explained. "It's the old shit coming back to haunt her."

She averted her eyes back to the tabletop as she managed the next part of the story.

"Jesse found out she used to be…"

Another shrug.

"Well, to use your word, a _less_-than-law-abiding citizen."

Stan whistled, long and low and his warm brown eyes were compassionate as he looked into Mary's green ones. He resumed his trademark stance of the bounce in the heels of his feet.

"How'd he find out?"

It wasn't her fault. It wasn't. Marshall had said so – he'd said it in plain English.

But Sam had also said something else in plain English, something much harder to swallow. She was the one who had kept the letter – kept all the letters – whether she remembered doing so or not.

"In my closet, there's a box of letters that my father sent me," she relayed quickly. "Sam and Jesse found the box and there was one I got right before I was shot that I didn't remember having, but it had a pretty thorough description of Brandi being a deadbeat."

Stan sighed and shook his head. Mary wasn't sure what this was supposed to be telling her, but it didn't matter.

"As an added bonus, he included why he thought Peter was a useless sack of crap for being an alcoholic and a brief mention of my kidnapping," she searched Stan's eyes for understanding. "So I got to explain that to Sam at about midnight last night. Party at the Shannon's; you should've joined us."

With a sarcastic, bitter chuckle, she let her eyes rove back over her work. The more she thought about it, the angrier she got. She was pissed at Brandi for not telling Jesse the truth long before now. She was pissed at her father for having the audacity to say what he had.

But mostly, she was pissed at herself. And she knew if she didn't cut Brandi some slack, Marshall was going to be pissed at her too.

Dropping her pencil, she ran a hand over her eyes, the harshness of the sun making it more difficult to concentrate. It was causing her lids to sting, aching for the sleep they had lost the night before.

Looking up, she saw that Stan was just waiting – waiting for her to come in on her own.

"Say you had kids," she offered suddenly. "Which, I know you don't, but let's suppose you do…"

"All right," Stan agreed.

"And you'd been in Brandi's place sometime a hundred years ago. Would you tell your kid?" she asked. "Doesn't he have a right to know?"

Stan allowed his hands to go into his pockets, shifting from foot-to-foot in his decision.

"Well, I don't know," he stated somewhat unhelpfully. "I suppose it would depend on the kid. I know what you're thinking," he added unexpectedly. "But Sam is Sam and Jesse is Jesse and no matter how you try to compare it, the situations aren't the same," he declared. "_They're_ not the same."

So she'd heard.

"But try this on for size…" Stan went on, evidently not through with his speech. "You gotta think about whether the kid is really better off for knowing."

"I guess…" Mary wasn't sure there was a case where your child _wasn't_ better off, but she decided to let it slide.

"Mary, all I know is that you want to protect your kids in the best way you know how," he sounded conclusive. "Sometimes, that means the cold hard truth and other times it means keeping the hatch battened down tight to spare them any unnecessary pain."

Mary smirked, but she wasn't even sure why. She knew Stan was right, but she couldn't imagine where the visionary had come from.

"When did you become an expert on this?" she asked. "We gonna have to start calling you Father McQueen?"

She didn't even think about the fact that 'start' implied there were indefinite work days ahead with Stan, and that was not the case at all.

Still, she certainly didn't anticipate Stan's next bout of wisdom.

"I became a father when I became chief, Mary."

She knew what he was saying, even as he tried to stay casual, but she still wasn't prepared for the wave of emotion that splashed against her heart in a crest too big to swallow. Of course she loved Stan, and she had secretly thought of him as a kind of grandfather-figure for Sam, but she really hadn't thought he might feel the same way.

And yet, why was she surprised? His only two inspectors had fallen in love and gotten married on his watch. He'd been watching their backs since day one – protecting them, skillfully sliding in just enough detail or too much. He'd been at their wedding; he'd been in the waiting room when Sam was born. He'd been there when Marshall had hit the desert floor.

If they weren't his kids, who was?

"Stan," was all she managed, gulping hard past the lump in her throat.

"You know…" he brushed over it, maybe regretting his broad way with words.

He scuffed his feet and looked at the ground.

"If this thing with Jesse is gonna take up a huge chunk of your weekend, what do you say we move my little soiree to mid-week?" he suggested.

"Who said it's going to take up a huge chunk of my weekend?" she rebutted, letting him get away with ignoring his heartfelt phrase.

"Come on," he scoffed. "I know you're already penciling in time to give Brandi what for. That's gonna take a day – at least."

Mary laughed then and shook her head, Stan doing the same. Chewing on the eraser from her pencil, she nodded in agreement with his plan.

"Talk to the water cooler," some things never changed. "It's not like we've got caterers or anything. It's balloons and cupcakes at the house."

"Copy that," he sang.

With that, he strolled back into his office just as Mary's phone starting ringing beneath all her papers. Rooting around, stuffing the less-important ones aside, she unearthed the Blackberry and shook her hair out of her face before putting it to her ear.

"This is Mary," she greeted the unsuspecting party before the frantic, disapproving tone told her exactly who it was.

"What did you _do_?"

That hysteria came in many forms, but there was no mistaking it.

"I didn't do anything mom," Mary rolled her eyes, trying to locate one of the papers she'd mislaid.

"I just talked to Brandi!" Jinx rambled on. "What happened? How on earth…?"

"If you talked to Brandi, how do you not know what happened?" Mary was curious as well as annoyed. "She didn't clue you in?"

"Why would you have that letter in the house?" Jinx hissed predictably.

Well, that was two for the 'blame Mary' count if you tallied Sam. Marshall stood alone in his camp so far but she had a feeling she'd be on thin ice with him if she blasted Brandi like she wanted to.

"I – didn't – know – I – had –it," Mary spoke in a very distinct, staccato tone as though Jinx might be hard of hearing. "You try remembering all the mail you got a few days before you're blasted off your ass and lose half your blood supply."

For someone who was guilting themselves internally, Mary certainly did an excellent job of hiding it.

Jinx huffed loudly before continuing, making it sound as though a large gust of wind had swept through the speaker.

"You expect me to believe this was just some routine letter that came with the bills?" her mother accused haughtily.

No, not really. Jinx was smarter than Mary gave her credit for and she, if anybody, knew the kind of influence James had on her.

"I don't know what you want to hear," Mary persisted. "And I don't have time to figure it out. Here's an idea – why don't you go waste your time berating Brandi for keeping her mouth shut all these years. It'll save me the trouble."

She tried to go back to her work and tune Jinx out with little success. She was like an annoying, twittering bumblebee when she got like this.

"Your sister has changed," she insisted. "Do you know how much it upsets me that you forget that so easily?"

She sounded like Marshall. She sounded exactly like Marshall, and this did not help.

"Don't you remember when Marshall was shot?"

Too far. Too far.

"Stop," Mary cut in sharply, hoping her icy tone would shut Jinx up.

"She was such a big help to you," Jinx was not listening. "She did so much for Sam while Marshall was in the hospital—."

"Stop!" the monster had reared it's head, forcing her to shout.

Stan looked up from his office, concerned, but Mary shook her head to reassure him.

She'd actually lied to Sam the night before. There were three things she hated to talk about. But the third was such taboo she couldn't even gather enough courage to _mention_ she hated talking about it.

"Darling, I'm sorry," Jinx sounded genuine now. "I know you don't…"

But at that moment, the call waiting kicked in with its telltale beep and Mary was grateful. It gave her an excuse to bum off Jinx.

"Mom, I've got another call; I'm gonna have to go," she said.

Fortunately, she chose to accept it. Mary absolutely hated talking to Jinx when things were tense. It made her feel tight and trapped all over, successfully taking her back to earlier days when they couldn't even have a decent adult conversation.

"All right," her mother agreed with the news. "George and I were thinking about stopping in tonight to talk to Jesse."

Wouldn't _that_ be fun?

"Fine," Mary didn't want to argue. "Do what you want. I don't care."

She hung up without saying goodbye and had to shake her hair out of her eyes a second time, groping for her pencil that had rolled away before she finally greeted her second caller.

"This is Mary," rather irritably.

But as it was with Jinx, she needed no introduction as to who lay waiting on the other end with their first words.

"Hi honey!"

The tension whooshed out of her like a coiled, spiraling corkscrew – out of her shoulders, through her ribcage, where it landed, floating like a warm and pleasant capsule in her belly. The trusting presence immediately put her at ease. She loved Jinx, of course, but this had always had its own unique shape of a relationship.

"Hi," she said to Carolyn, writing a little more freely with one part of her brain and listening with the other. "What's up?"

"Oh, little of this, little of that," she could picture her mother-in-law waving her hand around. "Just thought I'd check in – unless you're busy."

"I've got a minute," Mary decided spontaneously. "Didn't you just talk to Marshall a couple nights ago?"

"I did," she agreed. "But you and I missed each other; wanted to make sure I got a chance to say hi this week."

This was a wonderful woman, always so careful about her boundaries with her kids and letting them live their own lives, but always stepping in to be their ear at the appropriate moment. Although Carolyn was certainly getting on in years, she hadn't lost her knack for alleviating everyone's stress.

"He mentioned when we spoke that Jesse would be staying for the week," Carolyn continued. "Because Peter and Brandi were headed south to visit his parents?"

"Yeah…" Mary said absently. "His mom had to have knee-replacement surgery."

"Ooh, bummer," Carolyn decided. "I haven't had that pleasure yet. How's she doing?"

The question suddenly recalled Mary to the fact that she hadn't even asked Brandi how Dora was – or Peter, for that matter. There had to be a reason Brandi had not dashed home at once at the news of Jesse's discovery. Could that mean she was not recovering as quickly as they'd hoped?

"I think she's fine," Mary opted to make up. "Brandi and Peter are headed back tomorrow morning, so…" her voice trailed away with the fib.

"Really?" Carolyn was eternally sharp-minded. "I thought Marshall said they'd be gone until Monday."

"Well…"

Mary paused in her work, now finding it harder to lie but she knew she had to. Even as long as she'd known Carolyn now, she hadn't a clue how much she knew about Brandi's past or, indeed, Mary's when you considered the abduction. She'd revealed that she was aware they worked in WITSEC, but she had been impeccable at keeping it to herself.

Mary decided a segment of the reality was best at this point, if and when she worked out how much Marshall had shared.

"Jesse's kind of been having a tough go lately," she explained. "Been a little bit lonely. He misses Brandi and he was sick on Thursday…"

"Bless his heart," Carolyn was predictably sympathetic, falling back on one of her favorite phrases. "He's such a nice boy – like his mama."

Mary's heart jumped a little at the mention, noting how Carolyn seemed to think Brandi was admirable and even had a son as such. There was nothing untruthful about it, of course. Brandi _was_ nice – so was Peter. There was nothing unkind about either one of them. That wasn't the problem.

"Have he and Sam enjoyed seeing so much of each other?" she pressed on before Mary could respond.

"Uh…some," her daughter-in-law turned slightly evasive. "They're just different, you know?"

She'd been saying this an awful lot lately.

"Sam's growing up and Jesse…"

She wished she would quit talking about Jesse like he was somehow impaired. There was nothing wrong with him. He had enough problems without his aunt making him seem weakened in any way.

"Oh, you know what I just thought of!" Carolyn as-much-as-interrupted while Mary was busy reflecting. "I have the perfect person for him to talk to…!"

Mary was so caught-up in Carolyn's enthusiastic offer that she neglected to notice her call waiting was squawking again. She didn't know the last time she actually got to have a decent conversation over the phone without somebody butting in. But, seeing as how she was not much of a people person this shouldn't have bothered her.

"Carolyn, I'm getting another call," she was forced to cut her off. "Hold that thought, yeah?"

"You know I will," was her characteristic, buoyant response. "Do what you have to do. We'll talk again soon, honey."

"Sure," Mary agreed before letting her go.

This time, however, she thought to glance at the ID before sucking up any more of her office-time and saw that it was Marshall. She was not one to ignore calls from her husband, even if it _did_ take up far too much of her work hours, and she put him on.

"Hey," she tried to attend to her work for the third time, categorizing her sheets to avoid mixing them up.

"Hi…"

There was a sigh, and that combined with the dejection he managed to project in just two letters told Mary this was not a social call.

"What?" she abandoned her files to listen properly. "Something up?"

"Yeah…" he answered briefly. "I just got a call from Brandi, who got a call from Jesse's school. Apparently, Jesse got into it with another boy."

"Got into it how?" Mary interjected without giving him time to explain.

"I understand words were exchanged, although I don't have specifics, and there was some pushing and shoving and Jesse made the kid's nose bleed," he revealed. "Jesse escaped with a black eye. I don't think either one of them actually hit each other; they probably caught elbows or the ground or something…"

"Is he okay?" she took care to ask without even thinking.

"He's fine," Marshall answered. "The other kid too."

Just the idea of this was highly-_highly_ unsettling to Mary. Jesse never fought, vocally or physically. He was so shy, so polite, and so sweet she'd never have thought he'd have the nerve. It sounded as though he were provoked, but he was obviously more upset than either she or Marshall realized for him to take it to this level.

"Anyway…" Marshall sighed a second time. "I've gotta go pick him up; I'm headed over there now."

"Wait, he has to come home?" Mary was bewildered, until Marshall reminded her.

"Fist fight, even without the proverbial fists, is an automatic suspension," he jogged her recall. "Rest of today and Monday."

"Great…" Mary muttered with her usual sarcasm.

Her well-worn anger was starting to return against her will. Someone had to set Jesse straight – had to show him he couldn't start on this path, because God only knew where he could end up. She had to get through to him, but she was too steamed to figure out how.

Brandi-Brandi-Brandi. All she could think of was Brandi. All the times she'd bailed Brandi out when she was Jesse's age and older. Fights, thefts, drinks, drugs…the list went on and on.

And the more she thought about it, the madder she got. What was Jesse thinking? He was better than this. Wasn't Brandi teaching him anything?

"I'm gonna meet you at the house," she decided on the spot.

"Are you sure?" Marshall did not sound as though he approved.

"Yes, I'm sure," she snapped harshly.

She had to talk to him – yell at him if she had to. He wasn't going to end up the way that Brandi had for so many years.

She didn't trust herself to go through it again.

**A/N: Mary is at all corners on this one! Hugs for the reviews!**


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: ONE more day until IPS returns! Wahoo! Hope this is holding your interest until that time! (And hopefully even after LOL!)**

XXX

Mary's rage only mounted with the drive home. A small, nearly silent voice in the back of her head – that sounded a lot like Marshall – told her to calm down, to be rational, but she smashed it quite easily. Every instinct that had been programmed into her for so many years to set the record straight with those who needed it was returning in full-force. Her lack of field work in the last four years had her tingling with the prospect of trying to turn someone around.

Or rather, trying to turn Jesse into someone other than his mother. It was wrong – she knew it was wrong. But she was too immersed to care.

She must've sped to the house because she made it before Marshall and Jesse did, but she wasn't stationed in the kitchen two minutes before they marched through the front door.

Assessing both of them, she saw that Marshall was plainly disappointed but that was all that lay in his sensitive features. Jesse had a nasty ring around his left eye, blooming in spectacular shades of murky grey and purple. That same eye was bloodshot, little red veins trailing from the green in his orb, probably from where he'd gotten jabbed with the ground or the elbow or whatever it was. The deep frown on his face didn't aide his appearance at all.

Marshall cast her a look she couldn't quite read before she took charge and beckoned Jesse into the kitchen. Opening the freezer, she grabbed a sack of solid, icy peas and knelt in front of him to get a closer look at his eye.

"Let me see…" she was flat in her tone as she tilted his face from his chin and then held up the bag of peas.

"Here," she pressed them into his face and he winced lightly, but took them in his fingers to hold on his own. "Press tight, so it won't swell."

Even as she doted, Jesse couldn't help recognizing the difference in Mary's voice. It was not jokingly gentle, but obligatory somehow, and Marshall caught it too. But he had a very shrewd idea that reining Mary in was not going to be easy.

Silently, Jesse lifted himself onto one of the stools at the island while Mary stood across from him, hands on her hips. Marshall joined her, but leaned against the front counter to appear a little more aloof.

"Tell us what happened," he suggested before Mary could start in. "Your mom and dad are gonna be home soon, but let's hear it. How'd you end up with the panda look?"

He was natural and firm, just as Mary should be, but the way he was so opposite her in this moment only enhanced her antagonism.

Jesse sighed softly, "It doesn't matter."

"It does matter," Marshall insisted just as quietly. "My dad used to tell me that all the time – that everything you do matters, that it all counts for good or for bad."

Jesse squirmed in his seat, clearly uncomfortable and embarrassed at having to go through this with his aunt and uncle but the look was so reminiscent of Brandi, Mary really had to fight to keep her mouth shut.

"I was at morning recess and I wanted to play basketball," he started to say. "But they _never_ pick me; they always fight over which team ends up with me at the end and then they never pass to me anyway."

Marshall nodded, waiting for him to go on.

"I played anyway, but the ball got loose once and when they were trying to pick it up, I tripped over it and stepped on Tyler's finger by accident…"

He swallowed and grimaced again, shifting the peas, before he continued.

"But he and this other kid, Hunter, they got mad because I stepped on his hand _and_ because they thought I'd lost the ball in the first place, even though I told them it wasn't me and I didn't _mean_ to step on him…"

He sounded as he had last night when going over Brandi's tragic tale – just getting it over with as quickly as possible.

"But Tyler said I was…"

He paused, wiggling in his seat again and then finished.

"He said I was a moron and I was too stupid to play with them and then I pushed him."

They'd definitely chosen the wrong words to use, Marshall thought. And he absolutely sympathized, but judging by the look on Mary's face she might not be having the same feeling. He knew she hated to think of Jesse as being made fun of, and would fight anyone to the death to stop it, but her mind was preoccupied with other things to fix at the moment.

"I don't even remember making his nose bleed," Jesse concluded. "I don't even know if it was him that hit me. People were trying to pull us apart and it didn't last that long anyway…"

"Jess, they should not have treated you that way," Marshall wanted this to be made known first. "It was mean and there is no excuse for it."

Mary shot him a completely flabbergasted look, but he wasn't finished.

"But you know better than to retaliate like that," he claimed. "You don't hit people, and I'm sure your mom and your dad are gonna tell you the same thing…"

But Mary, just standing there, had sat silent long enough. She exploded – burst open – and thoughts of Brandi and all that had come from her unattractive days boiled over. She couldn't stop herself; it spilled from her like poison.

"_What_ were you thinking?"

She barely heard Marshall sigh, even as he knew it was coming. Jesse looked surprised, but not nearly as surprised as she was expecting.

"Jesse, you're smarter than this!"

"No, I'm not!" he insisted, dropping the bag of peas. "Everybody says-!"

"You _are_!" Mary cut him off, leaning forward and grabbing his arms she was so desperate to make him understand. "You are much-_much_ smarter and you need to act like it!"

It was a bad combination of words and dimly, she was aware of that but she'd stepped outside herself to get this done.

"Why should I?" he wrenched his arms free, which made Mary stumble. "Being an idiot was good enough for mom, so it's good enough for me!"

That got her. Even as angry as she was behaving, the situation had yet to prompt horror such as this. It was exactly what she'd been afraid of. He couldn't be that far gone already. She had to pull him back, no matter what it took.

"I don't ever want to hear you talk like that," her voice turned from loud to menacingly, dangerously low as she took another step toward him. "Ever again," she emphasized.

"Who cares?" he whispered, but the malice had disappeared from his voice.

"You cannot do this!" Mary fired up again. "You cannot act like this! I care how you act – Marshall cares how you act!" she flung out a hand to indicate him.

"Sam doesn't!" he cried, jumping off the stool, eyes flashing behind the bruise. "Sam doesn't care about me at all!"

Mary heaved an enormous sigh, but Marshall used this as an opportunity to cut in.

"Sam does care and Mary and I both know you've been having a hard time and we just want to help…"

"Sam _hates_ me!" Jesse declared recklessly, which wasn't true at all but Marshall knew he was upset.

"Sam does not hate you!" Mary had never been much for exaggerations. "But if you go on like this…!"

Marshall was not going to stick around to see how that sentence was going to end. He'd let it go on far longer than he was comfortable with and he seized her arm, forcing her to close her mouth. Predictably, she was annoyed, but he continued with his plan.

"Sit down and get out your homework," he instructed Jesse. "We'll be right back."

Jesse nodded, grateful to be left alone momentarily and Marshall used the opportunity to drag Mary back to the bedroom, and she as-much-as fought him the entire way.

Once they were safely inside with the door shut, Marshall didn't give her the opportunity to speak first.

"What are you doing?" he hissed, and Mary could tell by the way his blue eyes turned steely that he was most definitely pissed.

"He has to know that he can't behave this way!" she declared. "Do you have any idea what could happen to him if he does?"

"Mary, this is a cry for help," Marshall was almost pleading, grabbing her forearms and gripping tightly. "I know that, and so do you. Did you hear him? He was just asking for a fight – he knows those boys don't like him to play…"

Mary shook her head, not liking the way Marshall was diminishing this set of circumstances. The downward spiral was clearly about to begin and she was going to be damned if she let it go on.

"So because his life has been ruined it's okay for him to act like a delinquent?" Mary shot back.

Marshall's rage was building as well. She rarely saw true anger from him, because they spent so much time teasing each other and they were used to taking blows and used to arguing over things that didn't matter. Marshall stepped back and eyed her like he didn't even comprehend who he was looking at.

"A playground fight makes him a delinquent?" he whispered. "Did you really just call him that?"

"No, I didn't call him that wise ass," she spat. "I said he's _acting_ like one."

"Is there really an appreciable difference?" Marshall raised a skeptical eyebrow.

"What am I supposed to do?" Mary chose to ignore the question and turned around, pacing agitatedly. "I'm supposed to stand aside and watch him self-destruct…?"

But Marshall cut her off, having wanted to get to the root of this issue from the very beginning but without an opportune moment. He'd seen this for what it was and he was determined not to let it escalate.

"He is _not_ Brandi."

And he gripped her arm again, making her stop, forcing her to turn around and face him. Her green eyes told him he had hit the mark, that he had plunged into the realms she was already so deep inside.

"Fifteen years ago, _Brandi screwed up_," he said directly. "I know. You know it, I know it, and now Jesse knows it. Yes, you had to pick up the pieces countless times and yes, her actions made things a thousand times harder for you…"

"Damn straight," Mary muttered, but found herself unable to pull her arm free while Marshall continued.

"But she _has_ changed," her husband insisted, reminding her of her call with Jinx. "Mare, she's a good person and a good mother and telling Jesse or not telling him was her decision…"

"It's her decision when we have to deal with it?" finally something Mary could argue with. "When it's hurting her son?"

"For God's sake Mary, you can't change the past," Marshall huffed, and it was he who let go of her. "Are you telling me she shouldn't have had kids because this could one day come back around and mess things up?"

"No," Mary rolled her eyes, thinking this was quite a heavy way to put it when it wasn't what she'd meant at all. "But she doesn't _think_. She doesn't think about how other people are going to feel…"

The fact that she'd used the word 'feel' as oppose to 'react' or something of that nature said a lot about who she'd become since being married to Marshall. Feelings and emotions took more precedence these days, especially with two young boys running around.

"There is no way anybody could've seen this coming," Marshall reminded her. "But treating Jesse like he's some sort of carbon copy of Brandi isn't going to help fix it. He's lived with that his whole life."

Mary knew he was talking about Jesse and Sam, about how they were forever compared and the younger always got left behind; it was the issue they'd been in a tailspin about since Jesse had arrived for the week. His words in the heat of the moment proved the opinion he cared about was Sam's. He wanted Sam and nobody knew how to patch those pieces together. It might not even be possible.

Mary sighed, her heart beating fast from having unloaded on her nephew, and a trickle of sadness ran itself through her veins as well. She forced herself to back down, to think first. After all, it was what she was chastising Brandi about.

"What are we going to do about him and Sam?" she whispered miserably, finally facing Marshall with the real issue. "It is eating him alive; he doesn't have anyone else."

Marshall sighed, but was obviously pleased she had started to cool off, even if her feelings about Brandi still persisted. He ran a hand across his forehead as he contemplated.

"I know you may not be the biggest fan of this," he began. "But I think we need to talk to Sam. I'm not sure he's even realized they've parted ways so severely."

"What good is that going to do?" Mary responded just as Marshall had expected.

"I'm not saying we need to force them to be best friends again," he amended. "But you know Sam – he'll put in the effort if he knows how bad off Jesse is."

"Jesse didn't want us to tell him," Mary reminded him while she chewed on her thumbnail. "He's mortified; he's so ludicrously concerned with what Sam thinks."

"It's insecurity, Mare," Marshall informed her gently. "We all know about that."

Yes, she did know about that. She thought back to how she'd felt with Marshall's family when she'd first met them – brothers, wives, all those children. But even when you didn't want to show your hand, you needed someone in that inner circle to help you forge that path and Marshall had done that with Carolyn. Mary wasn't stupid enough to believe they'd all blindly accepted her. Carolyn had known of her fears and had worked extra hard to make sure she felt a part of something where she belonged.

"Look, it's not a long-term solution," Marshall admitted while Mary thought about all this. "But they'll probably be spending a little more time together with summer on the way and, if nothing else, Jesse will get a fresh start with middle school next year."

Mary wasn't sure this was a huge comfort, either to her or to Jesse, but Marshall squelched her next thoughts with more rationality.

"I think that's the best thing we can do on our end," he finished. "Jesse may have gotten in knots on our watch, but he's not our kid. It's up to Brandi and Peter to keep him grounded and turn things right-side up again."

Mary wondered why she hadn't adopted this logic before now. For the moment, for the week, Jesse was their responsibility. But beyond that, the job lay with someone else. Why was she dizzying herself over it when it wasn't technically her problem?

"He's kind of our kid," she muttered as a way of acting on her thoughts, even though her words were just the opposite of what she'd been contemplating.

Marshall's eyes twinkled then as the anger began to fade away. She saw the love again – the understanding and the compassion. He knew how she was, and that the way she acted was a less-than-attractive reflection of her true feelings deep down.

He stepped toward her and bent to kiss her temple. His lips were soft and prompted the same bout of caged butterflies in chest as they had at their first touch twelve years before.

"I love him like I love Sam," he whispered. "I know you do too."

Mary nodded, "I do."

Admitting it put a lump in her throat of the same size and stature as the one that had appeared at Stan's declaration that he was like her father. The blow-up had been a result of worry, of being so anxious to prevent another person she cared about from going off the deep end.

For all the crap that she gave Brandi, she had always blamed herself for those years when she'd been so reckless. She'd tried her damndest to mold her sister into a decent individual after James had left and Jinx had shut herself away. She hadn't done the job that had been so essential; it had taken so much longer for Brandi to grow into the person she was today. Mary had always felt as though she'd failed her and she didn't want the same thing for Jesse.

"I want him to be okay," she murmured, gazing up into Marshall's gorgeous orbs, calm and moderate like the ocean.

"I know," he nodded. "I think he will be; he just needs some help…"

Marshall's tone tapered away as though there was something else on his mind that he wasn't voicing. Mary searched his eyes for the answer, probing back and forth like a dim spotlight.

"And I know this isn't what you want to hear, but that's why you need to take it easy on Brandi," he advised hesitantly. "Babe, he _adores_ you…"

He had obviously thrown that in to soften her up, but she was listening a little better now.

"If he believes that you think she's a loser, he's going to think the exact same thing," he figured. "I know you don't want him feeling that way about Brandi, no matter what you say. He's so easily influenced."

This wasn't a compliment and it definitely jogged Mary's knack for comparisons, even where they weren't needed.

"Like his mother," she said in an undertone.

She'd thought Marshall might fire up again with this remark, but he just gave a sedate nod, placating her with agreement.

"Yeah," he shrugged.

She let the silence swallow them up momentarily, feeling strung-out from dealing with all that had gone on in not even twenty-four hours. She was starting to feel guilty for having been so careless with her words as far as Jesse was concerned. It wasn't her place to lay down the law, not when it came to something like this.

"You weren't _that_ hard on him," Marshall was obviously reading her uncertain features correctly. "Compared to how you usually deal with stuff like this, it was nothing. I've seen you be much harder."

That was definitely true, and she nodded her understanding. Marshall, sensing they had dealt with all they could at the moment, gestured to the door to indicate they should head out and tend to their charge, who couldn't be feeling very well now that he had a black eye to add to his problems.

He exited first and she followed, but stopped in the arch, watching Marshall approach her nephew at the island. He muttered something, pointing out something he was reading on the worksheet and Jesse nodded. But he clearly noticed his aunt's conspicuous absence and turned to see her standing a good distance away.

He obviously thought she might still be angry, but Mary acted fast and jerked her head, indicating for him to come over. Marshall saw it as well and Jesse turned for approval before Marshall nodded and he hopped off the stool.

His walk to her position was slow and steady, slightly nervous, but when he reached her he stopped and waited like he might be in for another thrashing.

Mary bent down, kneeling on the hardwood and focused on his eyes. Behind the anxiousness was the telltale yearn for approval. He was not a bad kid – he was a good kid who had-had a very bad couple of days. She would tell herself that as many times as she needed to.

"_You_ are _you_," she poked her finger in his chest a little harder than was necessary, but was feeling emphatic. "I want you to be who you are."

Jesse felt the tiniest hint of a smile beneath his sorrow as he remembered Marshall having said the exact same thing. These two, they were so strangely in-sync it was frightening.

"And who you are is not some lunatic that goes all fists-of-fury at a bunch of dip wads on the playground, am I right?"

He almost laughed, but didn't want to make light and nodded.

"Right," he sighed, feeling badly once again for his mistake.

"Okay," she wanted to wrap this up. "Finish your homework; you'll have a lot if you're missing two days of school, and you've got yesterday's too."

He bobbed his head up and down again, but took pause as he scuffed his feet on the floor, something else swirling in his brain along with everything else. When he looked up, he saw that Mary was just watching and waiting. It was something she'd learned from Marshall and Stan over the years when you wanted to pry a particularly hard piece out of someone.

But evidently words weren't going to do the trick. He pulled the off-guard Mary into an embrace and she was so surprised she almost forgot to return the favor and put her arms around his back. She was still taller than he was even kneeling and his head rested in the inner part of her shoulder, nuzzling against her. He was warm and soft, like a teddy bear. Like an old, ratted teddy bear that had-had its stuffing pulled out a few too many times, but no less cuddly for it.

Mary closed her eyes and patted his back roughly, her own way of saying she was sorry. And the hug reminded her of so many other times Jesse had fallen into her arms – after Marshall had been shot, when he'd slipped from the kitchen chair and hurt his knee, the way he'd flung himself at her when she'd given him that purple car for Christmas.

Considerate, affectionate, cozy, and grateful. She realized those were all things Brandi possessed as well.

For good, rather than for bad.

**A/N: Well, we've got Mary cooled off momentarily. But will she stay that way? ;)**


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: Sorry this chapter is way long! I don't know why; I just didn't want to break it up and then it got lengthy.**

**Everyone enjoy the premiere tonight! I am so-so-so-so excited I could practically burst!**

XXX

The rest of the afternoon was very quiet, Marshall having gone back to work to deal with his meetings and regulations. Jesse obviously thought it best to stay mostly silent in hopes that Mary would not spontaneously combust another time, so she worked and so did he.

Sam got home around 3:30, took one look at Jesse, and didn't bother to suppress his shock.

"Whoa!" he exclaimed, flinging his backpack onto the couch.

It almost smacked Jesse, who was sitting on the floor below it, working at the coffee table. He spared Sam a reluctant scowl, but didn't elaborate.

"What happened?" he asked, peering a little more closely at the shiner. "Did someone punch you?" there was a hint of concern in there.

"There was an incident," Mary chimed in from her post at the table and Sam whirled around, seemingly not even having noticed she was there. "Over and done with."

"Bet you get to miss school though," Sam predicted and he was right as usual.

"Yeah," Jesse agreed. "Just Monday."

"He doesn't _get_ to miss anything," Mary attended to them a second time, already annoyed because she was trying to get her work done. "It's not a reward."

Even though it kind of was.

"You look like you could be a prize-fighter," Sam completely ignored his mother, gesturing emphatically at the bruise. "They're those boxers that look like they're trying to KO each other for some huge wad of dough…"

"Sam…" Mary's tone held a distinct warning as she barely lifted her eyes.

"Totally tough," he prattled on. "If they'd gotten your jaw line, you could definitely pass for one."

"SAM!" she shouted this time, slamming her book shut, not needing him pretending Jesse's situation was something to be proud of.

Jesse was obviously intelligent enough not to have said much, not bigheaded in the least and showing no signs of planning to do it again. Sam looked a little taken aback at his mother's reaction, but not overly concerned. He was used to her hollering.

"Does it hurt?" he took up a more sensitive approach.

"Not really," Jesse told him, tapping his pencil against his paper. "It did for a little while, but Mary gave me a bag of peas to put on it."

Sam laughed, "You could be the next Clara Barton, mom."

His wit and sarcasm was definitely hers. That ridiculous reference was Marshall's.

"Sucks you got socked," he decided as he made his way into the kitchen for a snack and a can of soda. "But I'm glad it doesn't hurt."

_There_ was that trademark empathy. It had taken him awhile to work it in this time. But Mary reminded herself he was a twelve-year-old boy and battle scars were far more important than pain at such an age. She watched him snatch a few leftover cookies from the can on the counter and pop the top of a Dr. Pepper before Mary summoned him over with her finger. Slurping and crunching loudly on the cookie, he obeyed.

"What?" he asked, keeping his voice down as though he sensed it might be restricted territory.

"Don't pretend like this is cool," she cautioned him. "It's not."

"I know," he shrugged as though it was not a big deal. "I was just trying to make him feel better about it," he informed her wisely. "He _must've_ been pissed if he beat some kid up."

"He didn't beat anyone up," she sighed. "And don't say 'pissed,'" she added for good measure, placating the non-existent Marshall.

"Why'd he do it?" her son asked without responding to the scolding. "He's upset about Brandi?"

"Among other things," Mary slipped in evasively, not thinking about what she was doing thoroughly enough.

"Other things?" and Sam definitely caught on. When Mary glanced up again, his brow was furrowed and he looked worried. "Like what?"

She'd told Marshall they'd talk to him and they would. But now was a bad time – there was nothing to be gained from doing it when Jesse was present. The whole point was to be discrete so Sam could watch his step without Jesse knowing it was a team effort to make his life a little easier.

"Later," she shook her head, hoping Sam wouldn't push it. "He was provoked; a bunch of douche bags were getting in his face on the playground."

Used to his mother's language, "Does that happen…I don't know…" he shrugged. "A lot?"

Reflecting, Mary realized she was minimizing Jesse's part in the scuffle for Sam's benefit, which was exactly what she hadn't wanted Marshall to do. She'd spent a lot of time doing the same thing for Brandi, even when she hadn't deserved it. Some things never changed.

"Later," she repeated. "Okay?"

Sam nodded just as Mary's phone rang on the other side of the table. She was starting to become programmed to tense when the bell made its shrill shriek. Why was there never good news on the other end of that thing? Didn't anyone ever call to bring the proclamation of well wishes? Maybe she'd get lucky.

Reaching out to grab it, she hit the talk button and opted for the single greeting.

"Mary."

"Hey, it's Mark!"

Wrong again.

"Oh yeah…" she rubbed her eyes with her free hand, squeezing them shut to try and deal with the incoming conversation. "I was supposed to call you…"

"I'm kind of used to you forgetting by now," her ex responded brightly.

He always-_always_ picked the absolute _worst_ times to call. Was he psychic? It frightened her that he might be so in-tune to the more horrible aspects of her life.

"I guess that's a good thing because I don't even remember what I was supposed to call you about," she cut to the chase. "Help me out."

Mark chuckled, "Little time with Sam this weekend thanks to your buddy Stan's retirement shindig…"

Yes, now she recalled. But with one recollection came the realization that she'd neglected another. She'd forgotten Stan had offered to push the party out a few days in light of everything going on; she'd also elapsed mentioning it to Marshall. And, it transpired, Mark.

"Yeah, about that," she answered. "I think we're doing it Tuesday or Wednesday instead; there are a few other things to deal with at the moment."

Just a few, huh?

"Everything all right?" he was boyishly curious, she could tell.

"Yeah, fine," she lied quickly, and she didn't miss Sam roll his eyes at the response as though he knew who might be on the other end of the phone, but he smirked regardless.

"Well, you care if I still come out?" he asked anyway. "Get in a few extra days with Sam?"

She did care, actually, but she'd really sound bitchy if she just shot him down so she reverted to logic instead.

"Mark, he's still in school," she reasoned. "What are you gonna do with yourself while he's there?"

Not spend time with her, that was for sure. Unless he had a death wish.

"Well, why don't I just come ahead like I planned and if things get slow I'll just fly back Monday like I was supposed to?" he suggested. "A wait and see kind of thing?"

There was little else she could hope for, so she resigned herself to leaving the final commitment up to Sam.

"Just a second," she sighed.

She placed her fingers over the mouthpiece and appealed to her son, who had his eyebrows raised in expectation over the rim of his can of Dr. Pepper.

"You good with seeing Mark this weekend?" she asked.

"Sure," he shrugged. "But Stan's not having his party?"

"Not for another couple days," she told him. "We're still gonna go, but Mark may not be able to make it. He still wants to see you though, so you're good?" she repeated.

"Yeah," he was as casual as Marshall. "Not for the _whole_ weekend though, right?" he clarified. "Because I know you're going to practically detonate the house when Brandi shows up and I don't want to miss that."

"Not funny," Mary growled, knowing he wasn't serious, knowing he was on Brandi's side where this whole fiasco was concerned, if there were sides to be had. "Get your homework out," she ordered to quiet him.

"It's Friday," he reminded her.

"Well, if Mark's coming you won't have as much time so get started, cheeky!' she snapped.

Sam merely laughed at the way she was spinning at the moment. He was an obedient child and always did as told, but also knew how his mother behaved with Mark on the other end of the phone, knowing she would mellow out when he was gone.

"Come ahead if you want," Mary told Mark, getting back to the call. "Sam says he's fine with it."

"Great," the man sang cheerfully. "I'll call you when my flight gets in."

Only Mark would think they could drop everything just to give him an escort from the airport. There was something to be said for him being so easygoing; he always just went with the flow.

"Whenever," was her vague response as she hung up.

She wasn't off the phone two seconds before she heard the rapping knock at the door. This just about sent her over the edge. She was never going to get any work done and Mark on top of everything else was not helping her mood at all.

"For Christ's sake; this isn't a revolving door!" she burst incoherently.

Jesse recoiled marginally at the sound of her loud voice, but Sam just shook his head at his cousin to indicate he wasn't to worry. Marshall wasn't around to tame the beast so she was going to be this way until he was.

"I'll get it," her son offered, dusting his cookie-crumb hands on his jeans and leaving his pop on the counter.

"Look through the glass first," Mary grumbled, knowing it wasn't smart to let him answer when she wasn't expecting anyone, not when it came to her job.

Still, secrets were coming out all over the place so anything else couldn't possibly be worse than what they were already dealing with.

She knew Sam hadn't turned the knob before peering through the frosted frame and chuckling, shaking his head so that his brunette waves swayed from side-to-side.

"What?" Mary prodded impatiently. "Who is it?"

Sam chose the option of not voicing whatever was on his mind before he pulled the door open and Mary felt her heart fly up through her ribcage and into her throat, nearly out her mouth, when she saw Brandi standing on the stoop with a somewhat frantic looking Peter.

She flew out of her chair, knocking several of her documents onto the ground and strode right into the living room, stopping just as she hit the coffee table. Jesse, blocked from the view of the door, didn't blink.

"Hi sweetheart," Brandi murmured softly, rumpling Sam's hair and kissing it before entering, and Peter cuffed his shoulder.

Jesse looked up at the sound, his ears razor sharp to the timbre of his mother's hoarse, scratchy tone. Mary was just standing there like a fool, her mouth half-open and one hand on her hip. Peter waved a little half-heartedly, but his son was still shielded from the activity and couldn't see who had arrived. He could only view Mary's bewildered face; she hadn't expected them until the next afternoon.

"You in here somewhere, man?" Peter finally called and Jesse rocketed up, suspicions confirmed.

"Dad?"

Despite his anger at one, maybe even both of his parents, seeing them after such a whirlwind had to be a comfort on some level. Face-to-face always beat over the phone.

He stood directly next to Mary to get his validation, and then he jogged right over, Sam still standing in the open doorway. Jesse allowed Peter to hug him quickly, but his eyes were with Brandi. That was fairly amusing, considering Brandi's eyes were with Mary.

"That's quite a bruise you've got," Peter remarked as he stepped back to look at the wound. "Does it hurt?"

Jesse shook his head, "No."

"Okay," his father nodded. "More on that later…" he added in an undertone and then in an attempt to break the tension, "Hi Mary."

She indicated him with a nod of her head, crossing her arms now rather than standing in attack-mode.

"Thanks for holding down the fort," he went a little further.

Her face was obviously throwing him for a loop, not knowing what it was supposed to be telling either one of them. Mostly, she was scrutinizing their demeanor. Brandi was something way past skittish; she looked like she was maybe going to be sick and there were rings around her eyes, like she'd cried for most of the trip home. Peter seemed okay, a little frenzied nonetheless.

"Yeah…" Mary finally responded, shaking her head to snap back in. "What's up? I didn't think you'd be back until tomorrow."

Jesse was sheltered in Peter's side now, no menace in his gaze to Brandi but it was plain he wasn't sure he wanted to be too close.

"Well, I told Marshall earlier this morning that we were coming back up," Peter explained. "He didn't mention it to you?"

"I guess he forgot," was Mary's tight reply.

This made them even, when you considered Stan and then Mark. However, it appeared this was not the issue at hand and Sam shut the door just as Brandi finally spoke.

"Baby, are you sure your eye doesn't hurt?" she fretted, putting three fingers to his cheek and she turned his head so she could look at him against the light. "We should put some ice on it…"

"I did already," he shifted away from his mother, again without spite but mere discomfort of some kind. "Mary did when I got home."

Brandi's eyes found her sister's again, but Mary averted her gaze. If she was going to keep her trap buttoned, she wasn't going to be able to engage at all. She didn't trust herself to go and then hold back. If she got in, she got in all the way.

"Good…" his mother answered, rather blankly.

The awkwardness just spun in the air above them, like a haze, like a cloud of choking dust. Here Jesse had not seen his parents for days, and after everything that had happened since they'd been gone, they were just standing here barely speaking. But when you thought about it, what was there to say?

Especially with Mary and Sam standing there. It was this insight that clued her in, that helped her realize there was a reason Peter and Brandi had rushed home. They didn't need to be bombarded, whatever Mary's feelings.

"Sam, I've gotta go to the store and tell the bakery to hold that cake for Stan's party," she suddenly found herself chiming in idiotically. "Otherwise they'll give it away. Put your shoes back on and come with me."

Sam was visibly put-out about being made to leave just when 'the good stuff' might be starting, particularly since he had joked about wanting to see Mary spew her brand of acidity all over Brandi. But, Mary was going to give them the time they needed to discuss whatever they needed to at this moment before they got shipped back to their own house. She had a hunch Jesse wouldn't be quite ready to leave yet anyway; all his stuff was still spread out over the living room and kitchen.

"How's your mom?" Mary asked Peter when she made for the door while Sam jammed his feet into his shoes rather roughly.

"She's doing pretty well," he answered. "Understood why we needed to head for home. I've got my dad set up on how to tend to her, so they should be good for awhile."

"Good," Mary nodded, repeating Brandi's last words.

Peter could clearly sense what was going on here, and he was definitely one to express his gratitude whenever he felt it was necessary.

"Thanks for doing this," he murmured in an undertone while Brandi led Jesse over to the couch. "Really, we've taken up enough of your time…"

"It's not a problem," she shook her head, somehow finding it easy to be cordial. "It's not really the kind of thing you want to hold off on while everybody packs their bags and loads the car. You came a long way. Best get it out while it's fresh."

Was she talking about a hefty discussion or a sack of fruit here?

"Nice sentiment," Peter joked. "Although I have to admit, I don't see you holding off on Brandi for much longer…"

Normally, this would've earned him a very hard smack but Mary could've sworn by the tone in his voice that he might understand. Could it be that Peter had wanted this to come out a long time ago and had held back at Brandi's request? At this point, Mary was likely to believe anything.

"Well, we're wired to argue, so…" Mary gave an indifferent shrug to show she had made no decisions concerning unloading on Brandi and saw that Sam was ready to go.

"See you later," Peter bid her farewell, noticing this too.

"Yep," Mary responded with a hint of a sigh before making sure she got Sam out the door and onto the front porch before the fur began to fly.

It was only ten minutes to the store, and by the time she and Sam got there Mary decided she might as well pick up a few things for this less-than-bountiful jamboree, even if it was a few days out yet. It would give Brandi and Peter some more alone time with Jesse and this way, she wouldn't have to go back out again at a later date.

After reporting to the bakery that they'd pick up the cake come Tuesday – or approximately, anyway – she wandered the aisles with Sam, getting advice on all the junk food he thought Stan might enjoy.

"Those jellybeans," he pointed once they made it to the candy aisle, indicating the rainbow bin with the see-through bags hanging off to the side.

"Stan likes jellybeans?" his mother inquired. "How would you know?"

"He does," Sam insisted with a resolute nod of his head. "He told me once. He always keeps a bag of them in his desk to eat during the day if he gets hungry, since he doesn't always have time for lunch or dinner."

Mary supposed this must be true, wondering how she had missed it all these years. Granted, it was smart of Stan to leave the sweets where Mary would not find them considering how she usually behaved with food.

"Get the multicolored one," Sam suggested. "He likes all the flavors."

A very strange memory struck her then – as though from another life, a former day, a past she wasn't sure she had lived. She saw herself standing in her bedroom while Sam, about eighteen months old in a pair of overalls and a yellow T-shirt offered her a red jelly bean from his pocket. Hazily, she saw Brandi as well, leaning against the pillows behind her rounded stomach, which meant she'd been pregnant with Jesse.

"_Don't be stingy Sammy boy! I think you're forgetting – there are two of us now. Don't leave your cousin out."_

The memory seemed to weave in slow motion then, as she remembered Sam's pudgy little hand placing the red bean on top of Brandi's belly. It was hard to say why it affected her so. It made her feel silly as she realized the magnitude it was putting on her heart.

"What?" Sam's eyes were telling her she was being weird and she resolved to snap out of it.

"Nothing," she assured him. "I never knew that about Stan," she shared to get her mind off her thoughts. "You remember ever going to the office?"

Sam shook his head, "No. Did I?"

"Yeah," Mary was glad he didn't recall.

That had been the point; to quit taking him along when he would be old enough to take in the sights and sounds of a job that needed to be kept under wraps.

"When you were really little," she finished. "Actually, Stan used to give you his jelly beans; I just didn't know he had so many."

"Huh," Sam responded curiously.

"Here…" Mary finished weighing her sack of beans and twisted the plastic around to get the bag secure, but it wasn't working as she'd hoped.

Handing the load to Sam, she made him weight the bottom so she could get two hands to tie the top. She cinched the knot and the voice she heard was so startling she almost dropped the whole thing.

"Mary?"

Fortunately, Sam was paying attention and managed to hang on but he whipped sideways as well to see what had caused the stir.

This day could not possibly have gotten any more bizarre.

Mary stood there, Sam at her side, as she took in the dark, jet black hair – the gorgeous, tan quality of his skin and the shiny, bright white teeth. His smile hadn't changed, that was for sure. She could still see the muscles in his arms from his days of playing baseball.

"Raph," she finally said, her throat having gone dry.

It had been years – too long to count since they'd seen each other. It remained a mystery to Mary; Albuquerque was not that big and as far as she'd known, Raph hadn't left town when they'd broken their engagement what seemed like a thousand years before. Talk about taking herself back to another lifetime.

"Hi…" he proceeded a little nervously and that's when she noticed that, in addition to the cart he had two little girls with him.

One looked like she was about nine, the other maybe four or five, both with beautiful olive skin and dark brunette hair wearing denim shorts and very girly tops with flowers or fruit or something; she couldn't quite make out the patterns. The older one's hair was almost to her waist, but the younger's was short and their eyes were striking shades of deep brown. There was no question to whom they belonged.

"Hi," she managed and she tensed slightly when he tried to hug her one-armed.

She kind of hated herself for doing it. What was it about certain people that made her revert so quickly? She didn't have near the problem with touch that she used to, but now Raph wasn't going to know that.

"How are you?" he asked as he stepped back, accent still thick. "You look very pretty."

If it had been anybody else, he'd not have gotten away with calling her as such, but his English was what it was and certain words still substituted for others.

"Thanks," she resolved to be appreciative. "I'm…I'm well…" she told him. "You?"

"Me too," he nodded, flashing those brilliant teeth of his. "It is so nice to see you. It feels like it has been a long time."

"It has," she reminded him. "A really long time."

When Sam leaned on the cart she was rolling and it squeaked, it reminded her that she was not alone. Introductions were in order. She turned and pulled Sam in next to her by the shoulder, placing him directly in front of her midsection so they could meet properly.

"This is Sam."

Why didn't she say who he was? Why didn't she say, 'This is my _son_, Sam?' Was it because it was Raph? Did that make it different for some reason?

"Sam, this is Raphael," she continued. "Raph. He's…an old friend," she thought that was the best thing to call him.

"Hi Raph," Sam stuck out his hand to shake, manners completely evident and present, full-force at his father's request. "It's nice to meet you."

"It is nice to meet you too," Raph was obviously impressed and he turned to Mary for his confirmation. "Are you…?"

She knew what he was thinking, knew he was putting the pieces together even as she carted this child that really looked nothing like her in the slightest. Really, who else could he be?

"Yes," she offered a smile this time to verify he belonged to her and Raph returned the favor.

"How old are you Sam?" her ex, the second one of the day, proceeded.

"I'm twelve," he answered. "I'll be thirteen in October."

"Ah," Raph nodded appreciatively, and then turned to his own offspring. "Well…this is my Christina…"

He indicated the older of the two girls and she smiled shyly, wiggling her fingers in hello.

"And Carmen," he patted the younger on the head, beaming so vibrantly in the presence of his daughters, at showing them off.

The little one stuck up her hand as well, and Mary assumed she was going to wave as her sister had, but she spoke up instead.

"I'm _five_ years old," she reported, showing all the fingers on her right hand. "I'm going to be in kindergarten next year!"

"She is very excited," Raph chimed in, somewhat unnecessarily. "What year will you be Sam?" he appealed to the boy again.

"I'm in sixth grade," he responded graciously, feeling the warm pressure of his mother's hands on his shoulders. "Almost seventh, I guess," he amended with a light chuckle.

"Christina will be in fourth," he continued.

It was such bland conversation, Mary thought, and yet both of them were absurdly proud about all these ages and grades and moving up in the world. She'd known for a long time now – twelve years – that-that was what happened when you had kids, but her lack of a social life prevented her from realizing it. She'd certainly seen Marshall puff out his chest when describing Sam's accomplishments, and had to wonder how he would react when she relayed the news of this little meeting at the market.

"Sam…" she squeezed his shoulder again. "Go fill another couple bags of jellybeans for me," she asked. "We can make them Stan's going-away gift."

"You're not getting him something else?" her son was incredulous as he turned around to peer up at her.

"Dad's working on it, but it's not like two ever hurt anybody!" she insisted, internally reproaching herself for pretending it was an act of generosity when it was just an excuse to get rid of him.

Fortunately, Sam did as told and Raph instructed his girls to peruse the candy aisles themselves, obviously recognizing Mary's little escape act for what it was. However, once the kids had disappeared the same ill-at-ease feeling that had existed at the house swept back over her.

She wasn't sure what to say now that they were gone and crossed her arms over her middle, as though shielding herself from too many questions. She really wasn't sure why though; she may not have wanted to marry Raph but he didn't make her uncomfortable, and it wasn't as though they'd ended on bad terms. It had just been such a long time.

"So…" she began lamely.

And then her eye caught the band on his fourth finger. She'd figured, with the children, but one never knew.

"You're married," she nodded where the silver caught the light. "That's…that's great…"

She did feel that way. She'd certainly never wanted Raph to be unhappy.

"Yes," he caught what she was referring to and spun the circle briefly, grinning in a lovesick sort of way. "Her name is Alexia; we have been together ten years."

Perfectly natural – his oldest was a nine-year-old. By all accounts, they had forged the traditional path, which was something Raph deserved. Mary had never exactly been able to give him that.

"Great," she ended up repeating herself as she bobbed her head up and down and tried to smile. She wasn't sure why she was having such a hard time and persisted, "They seem wonderful," she indicated Christina and Carmen.

"Oh, they are very good girls," he lit up once again, his teeth practically causing a glare under the fluorescent lights. "I am so lucky to have them."

Raph had always been so open, so comfortable with getting straight to the point. He simply said how he felt if it was something joyous, which had made him the exact opposite of Mary in their heyday. She only opened her mouth to release anything if it included a huge amount of negativity.

"So, you are married too?" he ventured, obviously having thought to look at her ring after she'd noticed his.

"Yeah…" she shrugged and tried to look modest. "I am – going on twelve years."

She raised her eyebrows, her own way of telling him that Sam had been something of a surprise but he seemed to think it indicated something else. Then she remembered her inability to commit with Raph, the way she had been so unwilling to compromise when it came to binding them together. In his world, twelve years was an eternity to Mary and yet she rarely thought of her and Marshall's time together as of that length. They'd known each other so much longer.

"What is he like?" Raph prodded some additional information.

Mary wasn't sure how to respond. Raph and Marshall hadn't really known each other; she'd heard, at a later date, that the most time they'd spent together had been waiting for her to wake up in the hospital after she'd been shot. The two of them together didn't equate.

"You…remember Marshall?" she inquired, still shifting as though she couldn't stand to hold still.

"Your partner from work?" he asked, a little surprised now, but the images sliding into their slots fairly quickly.

"That's the one," Mary offered him a sheepish grin and nodded to show this was indeed the man she'd chosen to spend the rest of her life with.

A silence fell on them as Raph nodded as well and then let his eyes stray to the figure of Sam counting out jellybeans. Mary couldn't have pinpointed what he was thinking, how her life was being examined through the scope of her ex-fiancée. When he turned to her again though, his words were genuine.

"He looks like Marshall."

Mary didn't hesitate.

"Yes," she stared right into his dark eyes. "He does."

She recalled her conversation with Raph just before they'd broken up about how she hadn't wanted children. That had to be in the back of his mind as well; it was one of the huge reasons they'd parted ways, but there had been so many at that point Mary had lost track. He was a good guy, Raph. She'd never thought otherwise, even when she thought he'd been selling himself as a slice of beef as a car salesman.

"You must be so happy," was his unexpected comment.

Nobody had ever really asked Mary that, or assumed it for that matter. Even with everything going on at the moment, she supposed Raph was right.

"Yeah…" she shrugged again. "Sam's…"

What was Sam? Anything and everything? The single piece of her life she could not live without? Just like Marshall?

"Yes, I am," she finished without completing her sentence.

Raph acknowledged that and decided to further their broken conversation a little more.

"How is Brandi?"

And with a pang, Mary hated to think that Brandi was in the same place as she was when Raph had disappeared from both their lives. A mess, a roller coaster, spinning in every direction with no hope of clawing her way to the top.

But then she reminded herself – this week that might be true. But everybody had that kind of week, right? Otherwise, she was fine, better than fine even. It was amazing how far she could get when she expended the energy to talk herself off the ledge.

"She's doing really well," Mary answered. "She's married too, actually; she also has a little boy. His name's Jesse; he's a year younger than Sam."

"I am so happy to hear that," Raph offered genially. "I always wanted her to find her right way, and your mom too. I mean, they were very nice people and they are worthy of being happy too…"

He was so unbelievably sweet. He always had been and Mary reflected that it really was like catching up with an old friend. She'd never had much use for acquaintances, but this wasn't so bad. And the small part of herself that feared attraction after having been married to Marshall for twelve years wasn't even going off. It was nice to know that some things _could_ change.

"You will tell her I say hello?" Raph inquired.

"Sure, I will," Mary agreed. "Sam and I have gotta get back anyway…"

She reached out to tap his shoulder and he turned with two full bags of jellybeans in hand, which he dumped into the cart. Raph was soon joined by his daughters and sensed it was time to be parting ways.

"I guess I'll catch you around, Raph," Mary offered. "Bye girls."

"It is good to see you Mary," he nearly repeated from before. "I was glad to meet you Sam."

"Me too," her son interjected kindly.

"Good to see you too Raph," Mary finished as politely as she could before turning her back and proceeding back up the aisle.

Her mind was so full with the encounter she didn't expect Sam to pop off right away; she hadn't time to think and what he said was not something she'd even thought _about_.

"That was the guy from the letter."

"What?" she whirled sideways to face him as they walked, not sure she'd been listening. "What do you mean?"

"In the letter that Jesse and I found," he clarified. "It said at the bottom that you were going to spend the rest of your life with some guy named Raphael. Was that him?"

Sam's remarkable retention of memory was getting her in trouble.

"Yeah…" she admitted, not having thought about this at all.

"What did it mean, 'you were going to spend the rest of your life with him?'" Sam said again. "That sounds like you were going to get married."

Why was he so blasted intelligent?

She could hear the wheels of the cart gliding smoothly across the linoleum; the rhythmic squeak it made every couple of seconds. Evidently, Brandi wasn't the only one keeping secrets. She'd never even thought to share Raph with Sam. It wasn't something she'd done on purpose, but just the same.

"We were," she admitted. "Kind of. We were engaged for about three weeks before I got shot, for about six when I was in the hospital, and then for another couple after I got out…"

What a weird timeline.

"So I guess it lasted three months or so," she shrugged. "But we didn't go through with it; we broke up."

"Why didn't you get married?" Sam posed.

Mary stopped the cart in her tracks, finding this a very odd question. What did he care? If she'd stayed with Raph, Sam would never have come along. She knew he realized that. Why the interrogation?

"Does it matter?" she furrowed her brow at him where they stood.

"I don't know," he shrugged. "Your dad seemed to think he was pretty great."

And this was supposed to mean anything to her? But she wasn't thinking – she wasn't remembering Sam's claims from the night before about the grip her father had on her life, especially at that time.

"Well, why do you care about what he thinks?" Mary shook her head, her turn to be dubious.

Sam spoke in an undertone as they continued their jaunt, and it was all the convincing Mary needed to know that James' influence had taken her too far if her son believed she lived and died by his words.

"_I_ don't," he muttered. "But I thought _you_ might."

**A/N: Hope you didn't get bored with this one since it's so long. XOXO**


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: Hope you all enjoyed the premiere last night! I certainly did! But then I love Mary with a baby! **

**I hope you guys are hanging onto this; let me know, I love the feedback!**

XXX

Sam gave Mary quite enough to think about as the day waned itself into night and she was convinced by Marshall, after he'd received a call from Brandi, to let her sister and brother-in-law stay at the house a little while longer. He suggested they take Sam to dinner somewhere, meaning she had to call Jinx and tell her not to drop in with George. Whatever was going on at the house wasn't something she needed to walk in on.

Still, she was quiet through dinner, contemplating Sam's round-about accusations. She couldn't decide if she even knew what he was thinking. Was he disdainful of the way she pined on for James? Disappointed? Disgusted? She liked to think she'd come a long way since her father had died, but did the letters prove otherwise? Did they say that she was still holding out some absurd, meaningless hope for him? The man had been dead for ten years. Whatever might've been was absolutely not going to come to pass.

So why did she do it? Why did she continue to uphold him to some standard she'd fashioned? After he'd left, after he'd went on the lam, became a criminal, and after the way he spoke about Brandi – the way he spoke about Peter even though he hadn't even known him and bashed Jinx? Why did she hang onto something like that?

But she did. She just couldn't let go.

As they drove home, Sam in the backseat, Marshall couldn't reel himself back from asking about why she had been so distant all night.

"Why so taciturn?" he posed, turning from the wheel and showing off as usual.

"It's nothing," she responded automatically. "Worried about Jesse."

She _was_ worried about Jesse, so it wasn't a lie, but it wasn't what she was thinking about.

"He'll be all right once they get everything out in the open," Marshall murmured, torn between wanting Sam to hear them. "You sure that's it?"

To elaborate would be to come out of nowhere. She hadn't told him about Sam's questions the night before, or his little inquisition at the store. This reminded her she hadn't shared her little rendezvous either, and decided it was a good distraction.

"Sam and I ran into someone when we took our little excursion to the super mart…" she sighed and turned to the window so she wouldn't have to face him.

She realized the way she'd presented it made it seem that this was the reason for her conspicuous silence.

"Oh yeah?" her husband inquired. "Who?"

It didn't bother her, not really when you stacked it up against everything else. Raph had been perfectly lovely, just as she'd remembered. It was his presence prompting Sam's comments that was troubling.

"Raph," she muttered, still with her gaze averted to the stores flicking past in the sunset. "Children in tow."

"Oh, he's got kids now?" Marshall sounded marginally curious and not at all jealous. "How many?"

"Two," she said quietly. "Girls. Nine and five."

"Well, good for him…" Marshall decided, and then he caught on to why she'd brought this up, remembering his question from before. "Did he upset you or something?" now he sounded concerned.

"No, he didn't upset me," she shook her head, making it slide back and forth against the cool glass of the window.

Thinking she might ward him off, not wanting Sam to think he'd caused this while he kicked his feet against the back of her seat; she turned and blinked somewhat dolefully at her husband. If she showed a little femininity, just a hint of vulnerability, sometimes he backed away, at least initially.

"Let's talk about it later," she suggested. "Okay?"

"Promise?" his voice was barely a whisper.

"Yeah," she nodded. "Just not a good time," she jerked her head at the backseat and he nodded his understanding.

They made the rest of the trip in the familiar silence. Sam had never felt the need to speak when it wasn't needed and the closer they neared to the house, the more their minds became full-to-the-brim with Jesse and his parents. They'd been alone quite awhile now, not having left the house to dish it out, and there was no telling what had gone on in their absence.

When the three of them trooped through the front door, it was to find that Jesse's crashing ground for the past four days had been cleaned up. The sheets and blankets were folded over the arm of the couch, pillows stacked against the armrest. His bags were on the ground, but they weren't packed; Mary knew some of his clothes were still in the laundry and his homework was spread out as well.

Jesse himself, however, was nowhere in sight. Peter was standing at the counter eating a TV dinner and Brandi was at the table, rubbing her temples and sipping from a can of something; probably Diet Coke.

"Hi," Mary addressed them at large, tossing her keys onto the end table. "What's going on; where's Jesse?"

"He's outside," Peter reported around a mouthful of microwave chicken.

"Outside?" Mary found this odd and thought to step aside so Marshall and Sam could get in behind her.

"On the deck. He just needed to be by himself," Peter nodded sedately. "I didn't want him taking up space in Sam's room in case he needed to be in there for some reason."

Sam went slightly pink at being considered, but clearly wasn't sure what to say. As it was, he retreated that direction without a word, distinctly uncomfortable in the presence of all this tension. Once Mary heard his door shut, she plowed on.

"What happened?" she made her way over and saw Brandi glance up, but she didn't say anything. They hadn't spoken since everything had gone down.

"Just…you know…" Peter offered with a shrug. "Struggling through it. We talked to him about the fight and he seemed okay with that – I mean he knew he was gonna be in trouble…" Peter swallowed what he was eating and continued. "But then the rest of it came up…"

He stirred the contents of the cardboard as he looked down. Out of the corner of her eye, Mary saw Marshall approach Brandi on the other side of the room. He crouched beside her, hand on her back.

"You okay?" he whispered tenderly.

She nodded even though there was complete evidence to the contrary. Her eyes were red again and Mary decided to let Marshall deal while she continued with Peter.

"He kind of let Brandi have it," her brother-in-law relayed in a low voice. "He didn't exactly get a chance to the other night; it was mostly explanations…"

Mary nodded, remembering how she had not heard any shouting coming from the bedroom when Jesse had been on the phone the night before. It sounded like he'd taken his chance and ran with it.

"What's he pissed about?" Mary whispered back, trying not to focus on Marshall and Brandi. "Not being told or the fact that it happened at all?"

"Both, I think," Peter conceded. "It was probably good for him to get it out but just the same…" he shook his head as he glanced at his wife. "It was tough on her…"

The way Peter was talking, he sounded very torn. Mary was beginning to suspect more and more that he'd been in favor of the truth before this but, like Marshall, was trying to support Brandi now that Jesse was involved. Additional fighting wasn't going to help anybody.

"I really feel awful about you two having to handle this," he still spoke in a soft, restrictive voice to keep out eavesdroppers. "And we just took up your home for the whole afternoon…"

"Come on, what were we gonna do with it?" Mary shrugged.

"Well, I did eat one of your spaghetti dinners," Peter turned sheepish.

"And you know you're gonna have to repay me for the theft," she teased and she was pleased to see him let a smile escape.

They both turned to look at Brandi and Marshall then. Marshall was speaking softly while Brandi just continued to nod, a little too shaken to do much speaking. If they were going to be in her house, pulling everyone along for the ride, Mary decided she might as well continue to try and patch things up as best she could. From her post, she could just barely see Jesse's silhouette in the fast-approaching dusk as he hugged his knees on the deck outside.

"What would you say about Marshall talking to him?" she suggested. "He's calm…he's impartial…"

"Well, he's certainly welcome to try," Peter looked down at his meal a third time and saw that he had eaten all he was going to. "I'm gonna take his things back to the house; make sure we've got enough non-expired food to get through the night and call my mom…" he transmitted. "Then I can come back and get him."

"Fine," Mary signaled her approval. "It'll give him some time to wind down."

"You are a saint, you know that?" Peter suddenly declared.

Mary couldn't have been more flabbergasted if he'd said she was Mother Theresa. Of all the words people used to describe her, this was definitely one she had never heard before. She knew Peter was running on pent-up emotion and stress but still, this was going hugely overboard.

She actually staggered and quirked an eyebrow at him, deciding to try and make light of the compliment.

"You been drinking?" she inquired.

He laughed again and ran a hand over his eyes, but he took it in stride.

"Like I need to be tempted with all this going on," he reminded her this was a joke best left for the non-alcoholics in the room. "Tell Brandi I'll be back, okay?"

"Yeah," Mary replied and she watched Peter head into the living room and gather what waited of Jesse's things, scooping his unfinished homework into the open duffel bag.

Once he was across the room and had left out the front door, the closing of the hatch prompted Marshall to look up. Brandi was too absorbed in her misery to bother, but Mary took advantage of the lapse and indicated for Marshall to come over. He stood and tapped Brandi's shoulder before doing as she asked.

"I thought you could have words with Jesse," she whispered. "Sound good?"

"I can," Marshall sounded slightly hesitant, like he didn't want to agree too soon. "If they want me to…"

"I talked to Peter; he's fine with it," Mary waved this away as of little importance. "He just went back to the house to get a few things squared away."

Marshall shrugged, sparing another look for Brandi before, "I'll give it my best shot."

"Okay…" Mary let her thoughts trickle off, so in love with his willingness to do right by her family. Their worlds had merged on so many levels throughout their marriage, and he had been entirely truthful when he'd told Mary he loved Jesse as he loved his own son.

She stood on tiptoe, reaching around his neck and feeling the bristly hair in back as she leaned in and kissed him. She felt his gentle hand running over the hair that cascaded down her back, eventually wandering to her shoulder, which he squeezed before slipping away.

"Be as indulgent as I know you are deep down," he said quietly.

She wasn't lost in the slightest. He was about to leave her alone with Brandi, Sam safely shut in his room away from the action.

"I can't promise anything," at least she was honest.

Marshall accepted that and fulfilled the last phrase.

"We all have skeletons, Mare," he reminded her. "Try not to forget that."

Considering everything that Sam had put in her mind not long before, she wasn't likely to anytime soon.

**A/N: So many conversations ahead…hope I don't disappoint!**


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: I'm not sinking this story, am I? Certainly no one should feel obligated to review, and I'm definitely not one to talk on reciprocating reviews (I do try!) I just worry it's going in a bad direction when they taper off; you know how we are…we aim to please! **

**Anyway, enough whining. THANK-YOU for reading, whether you're reviewing or not. I do appreciate it!**

XXX

The air was getting warmer, Marshall thought; the way it did when the trees turned green and the leaves lost their crackle beneath your feet. When flowers burst not into shades of palest pink, but rich hues of vibrant yellows and reds. It meant summer was fast approaching and they were in for a steamy one if this kind of weather kept up. Then again, Albuquerque wasn't known for being in for anything different during June, July, and August. Those months always took him back to the year Mary had been pregnant with Sam and she'd endured such awful heat waves. It had just made him admire her even more than he already had.

But as he sat next to Jesse on the back porch, watching the great ball of fire that was the sun sink beneath the treetops in the distance, global warming was not what was on his mind. He knew how to talk to this kid – sensitive topics were his life blood. He was just having trouble getting started. He didn't want his words to be a cliché.

Jesse had turned to look at him, but wasn't speaking. His bruise looked dulled in the half-light of purple and orange and he leaned his elbows on his knees, just staring at his uncle. He still had that haranguing look of hope that things might turn out all right.

"Talk to me, Jess," he decided his nephew could start if he wanted. "What's on your mind?"

It was a loaded question, there was no denying. Likely, there were a thousand things running through his mind which really meant nothing was being processed at all. It was a field of mush and muddling through it was sometimes the hardest part.

His green eyes flicked onto Marshall's with the question, and he decided saying what he _actually_ thought was probably the best option. After all, he'd been doing it for the last hour.

"Why do things like this always happen to me?" Jesse asked.

Marshall was a little taken aback, "Depends on what you mean by 'things,'" although he had a very shrewd idea.

"Things like this," the blonde boy repeated. "Things like…mom being in trouble, dad being a drunk," he clarified. "Nothing like this happens to anybody else."

"Well, not _anybody_ else," Marshall was forced to be realistic. "We all have…_stuff_ we have to deal with Jess," he resolved to use a generic term until he polished up when he meant. "Stuff that worries us, stuff that makes us feel left behind, stuff that sets us apart even when we don't want it to, stuff that's just hard to swallow."

But this eleven-year-old lived in the moment; everybody else wasn't important at this second. He was important – his whirlwind, his emotional roller coaster was what mattered. It was everything that lay ahead; what was defining his life regardless of which direction he looked.

"So…" Jesse shook his head, a little disbelieving. "What's _your_ stuff?" he reused the term. "You said everybody's got it, so…"

Marshall's response was simple. His defining moment was easy and he doubted it would ever change.

"Being shot," he claimed, rather bluntly. "It's been four years, but it still haunts me sometimes."

"Haunts you how?" Jesse interrupted. "Like…nightmares…?"

"Sometimes," Marshall never worried about displaying his insecurities. Just as he'd said, everybody possessed them and if there was any time for it, it was now.

"_You_ have nightmares?" Jesse sounded uncertain a second time.

"Well, I don't know if I'd actually call them nightmares," Marshall backtracked a little bit. "It's hard to pinpoint exactly what they are. Sometimes, I don't even know if they're real," he shared. "I don't know if what I'm seeing is what actually happened. I don't remember."

"None of it?" Jesse latched onto that last statement. "If you don't _remember_ being shot, how can it bother you so much?"

"It's what happened to everybody else that actually concerns me," Marshall whispered. "How Mary and Sam and my mom and my brothers felt – and you too," he made sure to get that out there. "It still makes me sick to think about how frightened they all must've been…"

Talking about it made him choke up, and that wasn't part of the plan. He swallowed, forcing the tears back in, working to get back in control. He was here to help, not to become a blubbering sap. Brandi was taking care of the crying.

"But it wasn't your fault you got shot," Jesse insisted in a tiny voice.

Marshall was touched and smiled softly, the understanding not helping his ability to keep from weeping. Fortunately, it was dark and Jesse didn't seem to notice.

"It's funny how that works though, isn't it?" Marshall offered, rumpling the back of his nephew's soft blonde hair with his long fingers. "Deep down, I know that. But it doesn't make it hurt any less," he admitted. "It doesn't change how I feel."

Jesse nodded, digesting that for a minute or two, liking the way the nails played in his hair. It was giving him a minute to think, to work out of this had anything to do with everything going on right now. On some level, he supposed so, but this was just one example. He needed another.

"What about Mary?" he asked after a moment or two.

Marshall halted his trailing, "What about her?"

"She has 'stuff' too?" he prodded.

Marshall actually laughed; a bitter chortle as he contemplated where to begin. It wasn't a bad thing – it was just how she was. But Mary's baggage came in many forms.

"Absolutely," he assured him.

"Like what?" Jesse really wanted to know. "I mean…what's her biggest…" the phrasing wasn't going as he'd hoped. "Or the most…" he couldn't get the wording worked out just right, but Marshall seemed to understand what he'd meant.

And his answer for his wife was about as easy as his own had been. For everything that Mary had gone through, her principle instant that remained in the back of her mind to this day really hadn't changed. She'd tried, and he'd praised her for it but the result had been the whole point of this conversation. You couldn't wash some stains away.

"She's got quite a few battle scars," he finally declared. "But her dad leaving her probably takes the cake."

"The…guy from the letter," Jesse commented uncertainly.

Marshall nodded, "Yeah."

But even as he said it, a staggering thought came to him – Mary talking to him in the hospital about a week after he'd come to after being shot.

"_I've missed you, doofus. More than I ever missed James."_

He felt distinct pain in all his limbs as each word struck his working memory. He really didn't give her enough credit. He nearly dying and trudging through those eleven days had to have been hell for her. She hated to talk about it, so he didn't get a lot of details, but it wasn't fair of him to compare James' abandonment with his tragedy. One did not cancel out the other.

"She must've felt terrible when he did that," Jesse stated, not knowing what Marshall was thinking. "My mom too."

"Well, your mom would've if she'd been older," Marshall brushed his thoughts away. "And she did later. There's no excuse for him hurting them that way," he found himself saying; something he really wished Mary would realize. "It was really-_really_ hard for Mary."

"Did she think it was her fault?" his nephew inquired curiously.

"I think so," Marshall didn't hesitate at all. "Even though it wasn't."

This took Jesse back to Marshall's version of 'stuff' and how the two paralleled each other. He was certainly used to his aunt and uncle being outrageously in-sync, but this seemed like more than that. It was starting to seem like the natural progression of things; just the way it worked sometimes.

"But it doesn't stop her from thinking that," Jesse said, more to himself than to Marshall. "Like you and getting shot. Right?"

"That is correct," Marshall affirmed.

He gave his nephew another minute while the sun continued to dip lower and lower, losing itself behind crisscross branches and networks of leaves. It streamed in pieces now – hidden in some spots, dazzlingly bright in others.

"But…" the young boy whispered. "What if your…?" he paused in thought, trying to sound a little more poetic for the second time. "What if your…_stuff_…" he repeated, obviously gripping on to the use of the nonspecific label. "_Is_ your fault?"

And now he was thinking of Brandi, Marshall thought. Maybe Peter too on some smaller level. You could have your demons, your bad dreams, and the bare bones in your closet, but that didn't mean you hadn't put them there. It didn't mean you hadn't run blindly to the edge of the cliff without thinking first and tramping, tripping, stumbling over others on the fall to the bottom of the ridge.

But, Marshall liked to think he was prepared.

"Everybody has some of that too," he told Jesse, using his nails to scratch his back this time. "You're not going to get through life without making mistakes, without costing somebody something along the way that you wish you hadn't."

Jesse nodded, resigned to the truth even if he didn't like it.

"But what's really important, Jess…" Marshall wasn't finished, wasn't through being prophetic and philosophical. "Is what you do after you make those mistakes."

And now it was time to turn it around, to revert very quickly out of images and metaphors and cut in deep.

"It took Brandi a little while, but she built herself a better life," Marshall assured him. "Due in no small part to your dad; he was a huge help in getting her back on track."

"Yeah; that's what she said," Jesse admitted, twisting his fingers in his lap; his face half-hidden in shadow. "I really just wish that she'd told me."

"It's a hard thing to reconcile, man," Marshall acknowledged. "It's rough to be left in the dark."

"I still wonder though…" Jesse nearly spoke over Marshall, turning more interested now as he shook him away, his uncle's fingers falling from his spine. "I know you said everybody's got 'stuff' but…still…" he appeared almost pitying, which was a surprise to see in his young face. "It's not like anything like this ever happens to Sam. He's just lucky I guess."

The reference to his son that Marshall should've anticipated smacked him over the head like a two-by-four. There was a bonding moment to be had – a path to share, worlds to be forged. It felt so obvious now as Marshall lay nearly gaping in the dark, tiny bunches of fireflies shimmering amongst the fast-growing grass.

Sam _did_ have a past. And Jesse was about to learn what it was.

"Sam is not exempt," he began calmly. "He's got his stuff just like the rest of us."

"He does?" Jesse didn't look as though he thought this could be true.

Marshall wasn't sure how Mary or, indeed Sam himself, would feel about him revealing this but Jesse was old enough to know – he would understand the basics of the situation when presented with it. He was a fifth grader; about to be in middle-school. He knew the ins and outs of conception, however vaguely.

The man took a deep breath before unleashing the information.

"Did you know that…?" he had to hold on a second, but then he convinced himself it was all right. "…I'm not really Sam's dad?"

Jesse just stared at him as though he could not have possibly heard correctly, or else he was concentrating trying to make sure he understood what that meant. His brows were furrowed in rapt fixation, just trying to imagine a world where such a thing was possible.

"What do you…?" he whispered. "I mean…?" he was having difficulties expressing his feelings. "You're not…?" he shook his head and Marshall saw the light click on in a brighter fashion. "How?"

That 'how' was the only question worth responding to.

"Mary…was with somebody else," he explained as simply as he could. "When she got pregnant. We weren't together yet but by the time Sam came along…" he shrugged. "We were. But…biologically-speaking – blood, genetics, all that – I'm not his dad."

"Who is?" Jesse said, almost silently at that.

"Do you remember Mary's friend Mark?" he asked, knowing they'd only met a handful of times.

"It's _him_?" his surprise was almost amusing to Marshall.

"It is," Marshall confirmed, not regretting the disclosure in the least.

In his own mind, he _was_ Sam's father. He'd just used the wording for Jesse's benefit. Nothing stopped him from thinking of Sam as his child, from the minute he'd learned Mary was pregnant – from the second she'd allowed him to place his hand on her belly on the day of his father's funeral. From then and every moment onward, three hearts beat solidly and soundly as one.

"But…Sam doesn't call him 'dad,'" Jesse interrupted this reminiscing.

"No," Marshall agreed. "He never has because he didn't know the truth until he was seven years old. Mary told him when I was in the hospital because she wanted me to legally adopt him. So, in that regard, I am his father."

Jesse nodded, clearly completely sucked in to this staggering knowledge he hadn't even known had existed. Marshall could see it pulling him back to earth, dragging him inward, placing his two feet back on the ground. Whether this was anything he and Sam could share or not, there was still someone in this world who might understand the perils of having parents that weren't faultless. And if nothing else, it cemented the idea that everybody went through _stuff_.

Even _perfect_ Sam.

"Jess…" Marshall was ready to call this a day. "What I want you to know is that there are times – many-many times – that life is hard for everyone. Where you find out people you believed in can let you down."

Marshall almost thought he saw him smile.

"But even the people that let you down can still pick you back up," he promised. "Not all of them," he eyed his nephew seriously. "Look at Mary's dad."

Jesse nodded. If they stayed out any longer, Marshall thought he might be able to see the stars reflected in his eyes.

"But you are a _smart guy_," he poked his finger in his chest just as Mary had done earlier that day. "You can tell the fender-benders from the train-wrecks," he offered the analogy. "I think you know which one your mom is."

Jesse did know. He didn't even have to delve very far to find it.

"Well…" he was ready to be done with it too. "I know she wouldn't leave me like her dad left her."

And Marshall felt an enormous relief flooding every ounce of his body – his soul, his heart, and his mind.

"She absolutely would not," he concluded with this buoyant feeling. "She loves you."

His nephew smiled then, and the gesture put one on Marshall's face as well. Jesse's features reminded him so much of Mary's.

"Yeah," he whispered. "I know she does."

**A/N: Jesse's coming around! ;)**


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: Thank-you all SO much for the onslaught of reviews! I apologize for whining for them (if that was what it sounded like.) I've had a lot going on lately, and tended to think what I took as 'rejection' too seriously. Even though it was not rejection at all! I'm so glad everyone is still enjoying.**

XXX

Watching Marshall and Jesse sitting on the back deck, remaining so level-headed and calm, Mary had to wonder if she even possessed the traits possible to carry out the same movements herself.

She had been dying to lay into Brandi for causing Jesse this much grief, for being selfish and keeping her mouth shut all these years. Watching her shed tears on her kitchen table only intensified her anger and yet she had to wonder what good it would really do. She knew it was Marshall's advice that was forcing her to stop and think, to see that what was done was over and there was no changing it no matter which decibel Mary reached.

Besides, she was really too concerned about Sam's frame of mind at the moment to spare the excess energy on Brandi.

Still, her sister stood up, leaving her tissues all over the table, and walked over to Mary at the counter, looking both wilted and fierce at the same time. It was an interesting combination.

"So, let's have it," Brandi invited without further ado. "I know it's coming…just get it over with so I can get out of here put this day in the trash."

Mary shrugged, a little affronted at having assumptions made about her behavior before she'd even opened her mouth.

"You should've told him," she did everything she could to keep her voice steady, to not rise. "You dug your own grave on this, Squish."

Brandi had obviously prepared herself for a fight and was surprised at the way Mary was doling out hard-to-hear facets rather than just biting her head off. It was more difficult to argue with her when she turned rational.

"It was my choice," Brandi reminded her. "Not yours."

"Obviously," Mary scoffed, busying herself in the cabinets trying to see if she had any wine around now that Peter had left.

"Look, I know that no matter how hard I work or what I do it's not going to be enough for you…"

Brandi clearly couldn't quite detach herself from the idea that Mary had been going to scold her, and it was making the elder sister angry. It was entirely possible Brandi was asking for a fight, just as Jesse had been.

"Did I say that?" Mary rebutted, pulling down a bottle and grabbing a glass. "Did you actually _hear_ me say that?"

"You don't have to say it," Brandi muttered under her breath.

"But I _didn't_," Mary's tone turned tight as she whirled around to face Brandi, wine glass now in hand. "I _didn't_ say it. You want to talk about not giving people credit?" she let out a bitter laugh. "I'd do what you – apparently – do best, which is shut your mouth because you're not the one who's been handling Jesse since this came out."

Mary internally checked herself after that statement. She hadn't raised her voice, but she was definitely getting irritated and it was unlikely she was going to be able to pull herself back much longer. Brandi was really goading her and it was working.

"You don't need to 'handle' my son!" Mary had obviously struck a nerve with the phrasing. "He's not your problem!"

"You should've told him!" Mary reiterated and she definitely climbed in octave then, gripping the wine glass without having taken a drink.

"Well, what on earth would I do if I didn't have my _clever_ big sister to tell me _what_ to do?" Brandi retorted, positively dripping with sarcasm and Mary knew from past experience that tears were not far away.

"You want to stand here and brag about making your own decision, you go ahead!" Mary flung out a hand in her frustration, nearly spilling the wine on the opposite side. "But deal with it yourself! Don't expect me to clean everything up!"

"You have absolutely no faith in me, do you?" Brandi shook her head, eyes shiny as the well-known wetness reached them. "It doesn't matter how successful I've been or what I've accomplished; the minute I make a mistake you're back on your high horse about what a screw-up I am…"

"Don't be dramatic," Mary rolled her eyes as she finally thought to take a sip of her drink, hoping it would calm her nerves a little bit. Jesse didn't need to see the two of them brawling on top of everything else.

"Let me ask you something…" Brandi reverted slightly, stepping even closer to Mary and the older Shannon did not like it.

It was just like she'd felt with Raph in the market; recoiling and stiffening at physical contact or when someone got too close. What was happening to her? Why was she back to drowning against that tide?

"Why did you even _have_ that letter?" she inquired snidely. "Was it just so you could feel better about yourself; that dad loved you and he thought I was the world's biggest disappointment?"

Too far. She was going too far. Mary was going to explode. Bringing James into it was the last thing she'd wanted to do; she could still try to get rid of him if she worked.

"Don't bring that into it," she advised in a quiet voice. "Leave him out…"

"My God!" Brandi threw up her hands and spun on the spot, walking away from Mary, fingers to her hair in pure frustration. "You are such a trip! What is the _matter_ with you? What is this sick hold that he has on you?"

Mary put her glass down then, afraid she was going to shatter or drop it if she hung on. Her hands had started shaking and the wine was beginning to slosh even as she fought to hold them still.

She didn't know what to say to Brandi that didn't include smacking her, but the younger took care of that when she faced her again, across the room now.

"Mary, the man is _dead_," she emphasized, and it was knives slicing Mary's ribs in two to cut straight into her heart. "You will _never_ see him again. He is not coming back and he wouldn't even if he could!"

Now it was the fact that Brandi actually seemed to have grasped this concept while Mary had not that was rankling her. She didn't think of her as radiating confidence, but with this particular subject she certainly seemed sure. _Brandi_ reasoning with _her_ was infinitely more frustrating.

"Mary…" Brandi sighed, using her sister's opportune silence to plunge on with her claims. "Do you know how much it hurts me that you are placing more stock in him and those stupid letters than in me?" she accused.

Only Brandi would come right out and say that Mary was hurting her, as if she had the gall to act injured after what she'd put Jesse through – what she'd put Mary through fifteen years before when she'd been such a mess. Mary wanted to say this, but now that she'd gotten quiet for a moment she remembered Marshall's request that she lay off.

"That isn't true," she barely managed the words, and they were so soft Brandi didn't hear.

"What?" she prompted.

"I said that isn't true!" Mary burst more angrily than she meant to. It had been enough work just saying it in the first place.

"And I'm supposed to know that how?" Brandi stuck a hand on her hip, looking doubtful.

"What do you want me to tell you every day?" Mary snapped, riling again quite easily. "Give you a little ego trip to ride on?"

"Jesus Mary…" Brandi shook her head, and the look on her face said she did not understand at all. "I know I messed up here, and it's not like I'm not grateful you looked after Jesse, and I know you didn't mean for him to find that thing…"

"I didn't even know I had it!" Mary interrupted boldly. "Tell me Marshall told you that."

"Yeah he told me, but it doesn't change the fact that you still kept it when you _did_ get it!" Brandi moved toward her a second time, aggravated once again when she'd tried to give Mary a little credit. "What for?" she held up her hands, palms out. "What do you want with it? What do you want with any of them?"

It was Sam all over again. Nobody got it – nobody understood. Not Sam, not Brandi, not Jinx, not even Marshall though he hadn't said it like the others. Mary wasn't even sure she understood but it was just who she was; it had become a part of her, a part she just couldn't throw away.

"Honestly Mare, I feel bad for you…" Brandi suddenly claimed out of nowhere.

"You feel _bad_ for me?" Mary didn't enjoy that at all. "What the hell for?"

"Because dad defines your entire existence!" she insisted. "Still!"

This definitely pushed her buttons. It was one thing to worry about it, but it was another to have Brandi charge her with it right out loud. Not to mention, she had countless other things – well, two in particular – that defined her these days. She didn't consider James worthy of the same category of Marshall and Sam; he didn't even come close. Why was she being forced to choose?

"You don't know what you're talking about," Mary said coldly. "As usual."

"Well, maybe not," Brandi didn't even sound like she cared. "But I don't know what kind of example you think you're giving Sam by pining away for a lowlife like dad for forty-plus years…"

Her ire had been spiked almost to the breaking point. Brandi didn't know her that well. She couldn't know that what she'd just said was exactly what Mary had feared.

"You shut up about Sam!" she hollered. "He's none of your business!"

That wasn't true; she didn't mean it, but she was upset.

"He's my nephew and I love him just like you love Jesse…!"

"He's _mine_ to worry about…!"

"Mom?"

Mary and Brandi, almost speaking over each other by this point, stopped dead in their tracks at the sound of his voice. Mary froze, feeling the cold dread and ice seep into her veins. She'd forgotten Sam was even in the house; he'd been silent since he'd gone back to his room. But her growing stupidity had her realizing there was probably a reason he'd been so quiet – so he could listen in just like this.

She turned and saw him standing in the living room, his cheeks pink like he was embarrassed but had gathered enough courage to come out with whatever he'd heard.

"Sam…" Mary sighed; she didn't want to deal with his concerns at the moment. "Go outside and…" she shook her head, trying to clear it. "…And hang out with dad and Jesse."

She didn't know if this was the best idea, but judging by what she could catch through the sliding door, things were looking up. Jesse was smiling and so was Marshall; Sam should be safe.

But apparently, he had other thoughts.

"It doesn't matter," he declared. "I already heard what you guys were saying. I was standing in the hall."

"So you were nosing around?" Mary's patience was thin.

"You were shouting," he informed her like she was being dim. "I'd have heard you even if I was in my room. I'd have heard you in China…"

"Enough," Mary interjected. She couldn't take him being a smart-ass right now. "You got something to say? Is that why you came out?"

Sam didn't falter under the snippy tone Mary was adopting. He held firm, walking further into the kitchen, standing halfway between his mother and his aunt.

"I just…" he shrugged, turning from Mary to Brandi and back again. "This guy…your dad…" this was more on his mind than Mary had realized. "Why don't you just forget him? It's not like you'll ever see him again…"

He had obviously picked that up from Brandi.

"And he should've been in jail from what you told me," he appealed to Mary. "He shouldn't be so important to you…"

"It's complicated Sam," Mary finally spoke up, which was the best way she could describe it, or else the only way she wanted to describe it.

"It doesn't _sound_ complicated," he pressed on.

"Well, it is," she stood her ground as well, eyeing Brandi and telling her silently not to get involved.

"But he's just upsetting everybody!" Sam seemed a little desperate now; like Mary might be touched in the head and he had to plead to make her understand. "He upsets you and Jesse and Brandi…"

"Brandi's upset about a few other things…" Mary murmured, but Sam didn't seem to have heard.

"You should get rid of those letters!" he decided at once.

Mary was completely thrown. The thought hadn't ever occurred to her. She well-remembered Brandi tearing up one of them and how distraught she'd been. Because of that, for many days forward she'd kept her most treasured one – the one he'd written the day he'd left – in her back pocket. She couldn't stand the idea of losing them.

"I can do whatever I want with them," she told Sam tightly. "You don't need to worry about it."

But it could not have been more obvious that Sam _was_ worried – or something else Mary couldn't quite place. Those thoughts of disdain and disgust and disappointment hovered above her once again and she couldn't help wondering which he was.

"I don't get it!" not something he often had to say. "You're a Marshal! You know that he broke the law and that he left you for no good reason and you _still_ miss him?"

Mary barely heard the sliding door slip open and Marshall and Jesse enter into their midst. She wanted to tell them to get lost – she wanted to tell _all_ of them to get lost. She wanted to be by herself before she fell apart. There were few things on earth she hated to discuss more than this and Sam was putting her in a horrible position.

"What's going on?" she heard Marshall whisper to Brandi. "Who's he talking about?"

"Dad…"

"Sam, I told you that it's complicated…" it was all Mary could say.

"It is not!" he insisted. "I don't like him making everyone so angry!"

"You don't get it!" Mary persisted.

"Well then tell me…"

"It isn't something you understand!"

"Why do you even _want_ him?" Sam hollered so loudly Mary shut up. "He didn't even want _you_!"

The pain, the horror and the heartache that invaded Mary's soul almost killed her. She was breathless from spending so much time yelling, and she could hear every gasp multiplied in her ears as she stared at Sam. His face was red and his eyes were wild, gaze never leaving his mother's. The space seemed to be ringing with his final words and Mary could hear them over and over.

But she couldn't stick around for it, not when she knew she was going to come undone. She reached to put her wine glass down, and then remembered she'd done it already. Realizing, she simply folded up and hurried around the front of the counter, dashing past Sam and down the hall.

It was Brandi, reverting into her trademark sympathy who said, "Mare…" but nothing could stop her.

She made it to the bedroom, where she immediately shut the door.

But for the four remaining individuals, it went quiet again. Marshall, however, knew his role. Whatever the circumstances, it was time for him to turn into the scolding father; he was flabbergasted Sam had the audacity to say such a thing to Mary.

Not even thinking that Brandi and Jesse could see him; he marched over to his son and towered over him. He saw Sam gulp; Marshall rarely had to bring out the whip but when he did the terror was definitely real.

"_Not_ okay," he said sternly, his eyes a steely, dangerous blue. "Not okay _at all_."

"Dad, I just…" he whispered in a tiny voice, but Marshall cut him off.

"I don't even want to hear it," he kept his voice low and menacing so the points could not be missed. "You _never_ talk to mom that way. How would you feel if somebody said something like that to you?"

"Not great…" he admitted hastily.

"Sam, look how much you upset her!" he actually jumped in volume a little bit, not always a fan of guilt but he hated seeing Mary in pain.

"I know…" he sighed quietly. "I'll tell her I'm sorry…" he offered on the tail end.

"Groveling and begging for forgiveness in spectacular fashion is more like," Marshall advised. "But not right now. Give her some time and let me talk to her."

"Fine with me," Sam scoffed, obviously thinking he'd gotten away with something.

"All right…" Marshall resigned, but still trying to sound a little angry. "Set up and play some video games with Jesse or something. You've got a little while before bed and he's gotta wait for Peter to come back."

"Sure," Sam was, not surprisingly, agreeable.

Marshall nodded and set out to demand Mary speak with him, even if it took all night, when Sam decided to make his case one more time.

"Dad, I just…" he used the same words as he had earlier.

Marshall paused, wanting to listen. And when the words came, he could fault his son a lot less because he felt the exact same way.

"I just don't want him to make her so unhappy anymore."

**A/N: My guess is that some of you won't be very happy with Sam! It was not a reaction I anticipated when I wrote his semi-sub-plot, but it seems a lot of you may not agree with his assessment. No problem though – I'm not worried! You all give great feedback no matter what!**


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N Well, I should say up front that evidently what I took to be lack-of-reviews was not entirely true! I did not realize the e-mail notifications were not sending themselves out, and I rarely check the site for reviews because there's such a delay sometimes. Anyway, thanks for reading and being patient with my begging for feedback!**

XXX

Mary sat still and silent on her bed, tears streaming from her eyes, but she did not attempt to stem the flow. Even as fast as they came, they ran in trickles and rivulets on her cheeks; straight down the slopes in rhythm. One after the other, after the other, after the other.

In her hands was the tin with her father's letters in it. It had rusted a little around the edges and the reddish stripes were beginning to turn to rose with fade and age. There were dings in the black paint, creating a few single silver spots. She ran her fingers onto the smooth surface of the lid, willing herself to open the top.

And throw them away.

She was going to do it. She _had_ to – for Sam. She couldn't have him thinking she was losing herself so severely in James, as though she were not a rational or reasonable person. Tossing them in the garbage and turning a blind eye would prove she was done with it. She'd never look back.

So why couldn't she show herself the contents and pour them in the trash? It would be easy. It wouldn't take long at all. She could even bag them and set them out by the curb so she wouldn't be tempted to dig them back up.

But the tears cascading along her face and the massive lump in her throat kept her still. She could sit here for the rest of her life and she knew in her heart of hearts she couldn't do it.

And that meant she was a failure. She'd failed Sam. She'd spent his whole life pretending she was this tough, strong, independent woman when she was nothing but an insecure imbecile that despised change so drastically she held out hope for a man that had abandoned her and never returned.

The knock on her door was soft, not at all intrusive or meddlesome, but it still made her jump. She knew how she looked and she wasn't ready to see anyone.

"Mary?" came Marshall's muffled voice through the wood.

Well, except him.

She shoved the tin onto the bedside table, where it clanged when she hit the lamp. Hurriedly, she wiped her eyes with the backs of her hands but she was pretty sure it was to no avail. Her lids would be bloodshot, her cheeks blotchy.

"What?" she called croakily, knowing he wouldn't go even if she demanded.

When she heard the creak, she turned the other way just on instinct, trying to hide that she had given in and broken down over Sam's words, which just happened to be true. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Marshall's feet enter, turn to shut the door, and then resume his ascent.

Seeing his wife, completely shaken with her feelings hurt – no matter what she said – he couldn't help the strong urge to just snatch her and make it all better. Even if he didn't agree with the way she let herself shut down if James penetrated too far into her mind.

"Hi…" she tried to seem casual as she finally looked at him, mopping up a little more thoroughly under her nose as well as her eyes this time. "How's Jesse? Is he okay?"

It was so ridiculously random, but she didn't know if Marshall had-had any success when talking to him, and she wasn't interested in probing her own issues.

"A little better," he played along briefly as he made his way to the bed. "We had a nice talk."

"Good…" Mary almost spoke over him in her eagerness to keep him at bay, nodding vigorously to reinforce the point. "Good."

"I also talked to Sam," Marshall wasn't going to be baited; he knew her too well.

"Oh…" Mary shook her head now, no-nonsense and frank. "It's fine, it's fine – I'm fine," she insisted, even as she sniffled. "I'm fine; he didn't upset me."

She shouldn't have allowed the use of that word into the conversation.

"Mare, yes he did," Marshall said gently. "Don't worry about it. I understand."

How could he possibly understand? For how much longer _would_ he understand? He'd dealt with her antics about James for as long as she'd known him, even before they'd been married. He had to be sick of it. He had to be feeling just as Sam did, whether he said so or not.

Slowly, he settled himself next to her on the side of the bed, their legs dangling. She rubbed her hands together as though she was cold, but she was actually anxious. Her heart was pounding from all the emotion. It reminded her of those long, grueling eleven days when Marshall had been in the hospital and she'd spent what seemed like all six-hundred-and-sixty hours sobbing in wait of his return to life.

"I'm fine," she repeated, a little less robotic this time and she even tried to smile at him, watery and pathetic.

He didn't believe her. He didn't believe her at all and the look on his face was making her lip quiver, it was snapping her in two. It was going to make her spill her guts all over the floor.

"Babe, what's going on?" he whispered, looking directly into her eyes. "This thing with Sam – it's not new. How did this whole ordeal with Jesse turn into you and James?"

He wasn't blaming her. She could tell just by his tone of voice. He just wanted to know, but to tell was hard. She knew that he was already aware of everything that was about to come out, but it didn't make it any easier.

"Marshall…" she swallowed past the cottony feeling in her throat. "I _want_ to let him go…"

She did. That part was true. There was nothing false about it.

"But I just don't know how…" she trembled as a few more tears snuck out. "And I don't know if I can. I was even…"

She hiccupped she was fighting so hard to stay in control and turned around to retrieve the tin of letters to show him the evidence.

"I was even going to toss the letters," she claimed. "To try and move on…"

Her chest felt so tight she couldn't breathe and she gasped to try and get some air.

And then the sob escaped, "But I can't!"

She tried to shy away, tried to cover her eyes with her hand so she wouldn't have to see the saddened look on Marshall's face, but he was tender and soft as he pulled her inside his chest. She used the opportunity to try and get a grip, dampening the cotton on his shirt. His hands were gentle as he stroked her hair and she breathed him in, loving the smell of him against her. He was safe. He was always-_always_ secure.

"You don't need to throw them away…" she could feel him shaking his head above her, sounding disheartened she had taken it this far. "You don't have to prove anything to me. Where did you get that idea?"

There was no point in lying, "Sam."

He sighed and let one of his hands stray to her shoulder, which he squeezed lightly and then reverted to rubbing her back.

"What else has he said?" and Mary knew he was fully intending to lay into him later for making her such a train wreck.

"Nothing…" she insisted, slipping out of his embrace and wiping her eyes again. "Really – nothing that's not true."

Even though they were no longer intertwined in one another's arms, Marshall continued to caress her back in hopes that it would soothe her and prevent her from coming undone again.

"Mary, you have come a long way," he murmured sincerely. "You don't give yourself enough credit; you've moved on as much as I need you to."

She knew there was a 'but' in here somewhere.

"It just seems like whenever your dad crops up, you go in a tailspin again and I hate to see you give in to that…"

"There's something wrong with me," Mary jumped straight to conclusions, wanting Marshall to know just how badly she felt about all this. Here Jesse was the one having to deal with so much upheaval and she'd somehow managed to turn it into another saga about her daddy issues.

"No-no…" Marshall shook his head evenly. "Back up here. Tell me what brought all this on."

He was always so moderate about everything; he worked through issues like they were math problems, just a puzzle to figure out. He hardly ever lost his head and she didn't know what she'd do without him.

"Sam just…" she shrugged, not wanting to place too much blame on her child. "He's older now…he used to think it was normal that I missed my dad but now…"

"He doesn't," Marshall finished for her.

"He doesn't at all and he's _right_," Mary pressed in a hushed tone, gripping hard to Marshall's understanding. "What am I teaching him by living like this? By showing him that you can…_love_ someone like James?"

Marshall considered, furrowing his brow at the way she viewed herself because he didn't see her that way at all. While he hated to think that James held her back in any way, he hated even more that she doubted the hurt she felt which made her human.

"You're teaching him that sometimes you love so hard and so fast and so fiercely that no matter how much time goes by, you just can't let it go," he stated plainly.

How did he do this? How did he make her seem so pure year, after year, after year? He was insane – warped, crazy. He was just wrong.

"Is it bothering you that Jesse found out about Brandi as a result of those letters?" Marshall asked gently when she didn't answer, leaning low and peering into her eyes. "It was a mistake, babe…don't go beating yourself up…"

"That's not it," she whispered miserably. "Not really."

"Then what is it?" Marshall prodded without even taking a breath.

Mary needed him close for this. She looked down and let her eyes lock in on his fingers resting at his sides. She allowed her hand to crawl over and find one of his, pulling every single five and sheltering each in her palm. Every branch was unique; his round, soft thumb, the exponentially long index finger, his middle limp but relaxed, the shimmering silver band on his fourth, and finally his delicate, slight pinky. The perfect size and shape to rise at tea if he were so inclined.

And all five squeezed to help her get going and she forced herself to look back into his face.

"It's what Sam said," she began. "About him not wanting me."

"Mary, I'm not sure he realized how much that would hurt you…" Marshall started to say, but she stopped him.

"Because I was the same way," she whispered blankly.

Marshall was confused, but intent on getting to the bottom of it. He wasn't going to let her run away now that the marathon had begun.

"I'm not sure I follow," he admitted.

"My dad _didn't_ want me," she managed to say, however strained. "And…" she wasn't going to start crying again, and rushed to get to the end. "I didn't want Sam either."

And now Marshall understood, at least in part. Try as he might to get her to see that her momentary lapse in wanting to give Sam up for adoption had been a result of being scared shitless after she'd learned she was pregnant, she hadn't forgiven herself. He had suspected her unhappiness with Brandi for keeping secrets had a lot to do with herself and that single component she hadn't shared with their son. He didn't expect her to – he didn't think she would, and it wasn't necessary.

But the parallel was something else, at least in her mind.

"I just keep thinking…and it's stupid I know…" she was shaking her head now. "That if he'd been given another shot…you know, like I was…" he could see her welling up again, hating herself for even thinking such a thing was possible. "He might've chosen us instead of…"

She turned her shiny, jade-green orbs to Marshall and she wished he'd grasp what she meant without thinking she was far outside foolish.

"It's not really what it is…" she backtracked a little. "It's just something I've been…with Sam and his questions…" she wasn't even finishing her sentences now. "I know he wouldn't have come back for us. It just scares me that I ever had that thought with Sam…when I think about him and Jesse…"

She put her hand over her mouth to stifle the tears; just the idea was terrifying. That she might never have known Sam or appreciated Jesse, or simply thinking about them going through what she had when James had left – that kind of heartache and pain and guilt that cloaked you and, by all accounts, never went away.

"Mary, it's not the same…" Marshall insisted, wanting her to calm down because he despised seeing her so distraught. "It's not the same at all."

He let her come together for a moment before he went on; wanting to make sure she was really listening.

"You were not abandoning your child and you know that," he stated firmly. "You were going out of your way to try and be responsible, you made your choice, and you stuck by it."

True. It was all true. Why was it so much more believable coming from Marshall?

"You are not him, babe," he assured her with a slow shake of his head. "Hasn't that been the mantra this week? You are not James and Jesse is not Brandi or Sam and hey, I was certainly not _my_ dad. You are who you are."

You are who you are. Did it matter that the person she'd become today still had a seven-year-old girl deep down that craved her father when the stars lined up just right? Just when the days turned dark and the pain washed in and she remembered how it felt to be let down? It was Jesse, this time, who had reminded her of that.

"Just one more time would've made so much difference…" she found herself admitting, even as ashamed as she was. "That closure you always prattle on about…"

She smiled sadly as she gave him credit for 'that closure' actually counting for something, though she usually denied it. He tried to smile back and patted her knee; really wanting to have been able to give her that one thing she thought she needed to tie things together as one.

"You don't pine as much as you think you do, Mary," he decided to make known. "Just when the memories flood and you can't seem to get away from it. I know seeing Jesse struggle like this hasn't been easy for you."

"Or for him," Mary conceded with a bitter chuckle and a sniff, letting her tears dry. "Still, pining – a little or a lot – for a man who never did one decent thing in his life doesn't exactly make me feel better."

Marshall watched her pull herself together, smoothing her hair and her shirt, wiping her eyes with her index finger, and he considered that last statement a little more carefully. Mary had spent a lot of time trying to convince herself James had been a wrongful offender and nothing but, and she was wrong.

"I would respectfully disagree," he claimed in his best scholarly voice. "I would say he had at least one act of decency."

"Yeah?" Mary scoffed in disbelief. "What's that?"

He leaned in, catching her off-guard with a kiss and he could feel her smile softly beneath it as he whispered his response.

"He gave me you."

**A/N: Think our gang is starting to see the light! XOXO**


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N: I don't own IPS!**

XXX

It was plain that come Saturday, neither Mary nor Marshall knew what to do with themselves. As they'd expected to have Jesse, neither one had planned on going into work. But now that Brandi and Peter were back he had gone home, and Marshall had gone to pick up Mark from the airport while Mary had still been in bed Saturday morning. He and Sam were off for the day, leaving the two inspectors all by their lonesome.

It was not a situation Mary found herself in very often – a state of boredom – but it was probably a good thing nobody else had been around. She was still regrouping from her irrationality the night before, although had no inklings to discuss it any further.

It was around four o'clock that they were finally relieved with some company – not something Mary usually relished, but she was getting desperate. Marshall was lying sprawled on the living room floor reading the newspaper, his face pointed skyward. Mary thought he was insane, but he claimed resting on the ground was good for his back. She was lounging on her stomach above him, going over documents and trying not to fall asleep.

She heard the knock first, wondering how many more surprise visitors she could take. One of these days it was going to be some angry witness that would blow her cover when she was supposed to be off the grid.

"I'll get it…" she sighed, swinging her feet over the side of the couch.

She forgot Marshall was lying so close and she stepped on his gut, making him grunt appropriately, to which she chuckled.

"That's what you get for taking up half the living room, lanky," she teased and he smirked behind his paper.

She gave his belly an extra nudge with her socked foot, flirting shamefully girlishly and he actually giggled. She must've hit a ticklish spot and would've loved to go on, but someone was waiting for them.

Mary shuffled to the door, straightening her top and undid the deadbolt, twisting the knob. She was surprised to find George on the other side, but no Jinx. Stupidly, she peered around his frame as though her mother might be hiding in the bushes, but she was nowhere to be found.

"Hey George," she finally greeted him, letting out an unladylike yawn as she did so.

He took this to mean he had arrived at a bad time and immediately turned awkward.

"Hello dear," he replied, tacking on the endearment as he was sometimes known to do. "I can go if you're…" he shifted from foot-to-foot agitatedly. "I mean if…"

"Nonsense George," Marshall suddenly swooped in out of nowhere, flattening his hair which was sticking up in the back and smiling genially. "Always good to see you."

He shook George's hand and Mary realized how this might look – the rumpled clothes, the devious way they approached the door, no kids in the house. No wonder George was uncomfortable.

"Come in," she offered so it wouldn't look like Marshall was the only one with manners. "Where's Jinx?" as she shut the door behind him.

"She just stopped by to see Brandi," he answered shortly.

Marshall steered George into the kitchen where he offered a variety of snacks and drinks, all of which George declined. Mary couldn't help noticing that he was still awfully shifty; he kept clearing his throat and glancing nervously at her, even though Marshall was the one doing all the talking. She knew she made him a little uneasy, but he never behaved like this.

"Well, what brings you by?" she heard Marshall pose after he'd presented all the food and beverage he could.

George had come out empty-handed, but Marshall tossed Mary a Diet Coke and she popped the top while they waited for the response. They both stood on the inside of the counter while he stood on the other, making them look like they were in an interview of sorts.

"Well, I…I know there's been a lot going on lately…" he was wringing his hands now, not looking at either one of them. "And you know…I mean I didn't get all the details from Jinx, but…"

"It's pretty cut-and-dry," Marshall said smoothly to help him out. "But we're on the backside of it so hopefully things will start to look up."

"Yes…" George nodded adamantly. "Yes, I hope so," he agreed. "I certainly didn't come to judge…"

"I wouldn't expect you to George," Marshall assured him with a kind smile.

That was about the _last_ thing George would ever do, Mary thought. He was so soft-spoken, so concerned with keeping the peace he rarely offered his opinion on anything that really mattered. The fact that he was here without Jinx at all was pretty unprecedented and Mary was getting more and more curious about it.

"I just wanted to come by to…" his gaze found Mary's rather than Marshall's this time. "To talk to you, Mary."

"To talk to me?" Mary was flummoxed. "About what?" she sounded a little more defensive than she meant to and she felt Marshall's hand float onto her backside.

George swallowed, and he seemed to be preparing himself for the conversation ahead. Mary really hoped it didn't have anything to do with the ordeal at hand; she wasn't sure she could take much else in that department.

"I can give you guys a minute," Marshall offered to fill the silence. "If you'd like…"

"No-no," George held up a hand to dissuade him from this idea. "It's fine. Stay."

Marshall nodded silently, giving the other man the floor if he ever worked up enough courage to use it. However, if he _didn't_ use it, and soon, Mary was likely to burst. She hated preamble.

"Mary…I-I swear…I'd planned to come here and talk before this whole thing with Jesse went down…" he started to say, speaking more to himself than to her. "And I thought about putting it off…you know, waiting until things settled down…"

She didn't have the foggiest idea what he was talking about. She wanted to ask if Jinx was all right, but she figured information like that would've come a lot faster. Although with this guy, who knew? He was almost worse than Brandi with the hem-and-haw.

"…But I built it up in my mind…" he was really rambling now. "You know, got myself all prepared…" still, he didn't seem to know Mary was there. "So I figured it was better to just do it. You know?"

He returned to her once more with the question on the end, but she couldn't truthfully say she 'knew' at all.

"I really don't, George," she claimed bluntly. "I'd like to get to the bottom here. What's up?"

He took a deep breath, and it was like he was imagining the conversation ahead, trying to visualize what came next. The theatrics were getting to Mary. She hoped all this was worth it.

But worth it or not, here it came.

"I'd like to ask your mom to marry me."

The words didn't entirely reach Mary. She wondered if she were still partially deaf from Sam's statement the night before, if something about certain phrases just didn't register anymore. Part of it just seemed so absurd – her mother was certainly getting on in years; wasn't she too old to be getting married? Hadn't she said that herself? That was why she'd tried to discourage George from proposing to avoid breaking his heart. He'd bowed to that request and Mary had to wonder what had changed.

"To marry you," she repeated lamely, not sure what she was supposed to say.

"George…" Marshall shook his head, unable to keep the boyish – hell, girlish – grin off his face. "That is quite a step…"

"Only the biggest one there is," Mary muttered to him under her breath, but it was said without scorn.

"It is…" George nodded a little drunkenly, like presenting it to Mary was the first time he'd heard it out loud, what was making it real. "But, I think it's…"

Mary finally tuned in and interrupted without thinking, "George, I gotta ask…" she shook her head. "I mean, at the risk of sounding just flat-out tactless…"

"You?" it was Marshall's turn to be discrete. "Never."

"You really think she'll say yes?" Mary ignored him, feeding George a cynical glance. "I thought she told you she wasn't interested in marriage – that-that ship had sailed or some philosophic malarkey like that…"

"Well, I've been feeling her out," George insisted. "I mean, I don't want her to suspect too much but she seems to be warming up to the thought…" he continued. "We've been together four years; I think it's time to tie the knot…"

"But four years," Mary repeated, like he hadn't heard himself. "That's practically married anyway, right? You need to do the whole sappy down-on-one-knee, grossly overpriced diamond, 'a thousand times yes' bit?"

"If only we were all as romantic as you," Marshall teased lightly.

Rolling her eyes, Mary stuck a hand on her hip, trying to decide why this wasn't a good idea, various ways in which she could talk George out of it. She didn't want to be responsible for Jinx moaning about crushing him after the fact that was for sure. Didn't want to have to worry about her falling off the wagon and drinking.

Then she remembered Marshall's hallmark words about change, about the way she had taken Brandi down about six pegs just after reading that stupid letter. Jinx had been sober for years; there's was no reason to believe she'd slip if she felt she had to say no. She'd made it through Brandi's arrest without succumbing, through James' death, and Marshall's shooting.

This could just be a bee sting.

Or a virtual landslide if she actually accepted.

"George, why are you asking me about this?" she found herself wondering aloud as she mentally talked herself off the ledge, thinking Marshall would be proud. "You don't need my…" she searched for the right word. "Permission," she finished.

He turned evasive again, drumming his fingers and puffing air out his cheeks. When he looked at her, it was with the utmost sincerity.

"Well Mary…" he swallowed as he became equipped to go on. "I don't want to make you uncomfortable…"

Fat chance of that, beginning with such a statement.

"So I'll make it short, but Jinx has told me how you feel about your dad…"

With _everything_ she'd put herself through the last few days, Mary could scarcely believe this thought hadn't occurred to her before now. She'd never thought of George as some sort of replacement. She _wasn't_ seven years old anymore when she let herself think about it. Mostly, she'd long since stopped thinking of Jinx and James as a couple. He was just her father – not an ex-husband.

It suddenly came to mind this was maybe part of her problem when it came to James – thinking of him as only one being and nothing more.

"…But I didn't want to cause a rift between you and your mom…" she realized George was still talking and she may or may not have been listening. "If this is something you're not okay with…"

Now she paid attention. Was he really about to say what she thought he was?

"I don't need to go through with it."

And this sealed it. She couldn't believe it. Even George, who had only spent time with them the last four years, who had nowhere near the history with Mary and James, knew she was still hung up on him. Oddly, it was not upsetting her as it would have last night. It was just the glimmer she needed, just the nudge to help her see.

All this time, and it was this that helped her understand. So simple.

Marshall was teaching her.

"George…" she shook her head, doing her best to look bewildered. "You don't need to…"

He was a nice man. Didn't she want Jinx to be happy?

"I mean are you getting my blessing?" she put a hand to her chest to aide comprehension. But she didn't wait for him to respond, "It's your decision; don't worry about me."

She was absolutely genuine, and she wanted to turn and see what Marshall was thinking if not for the fact that she was worried about making George understand. But the worry had shifted now. It was how she felt when she worked on a good, solid case. When the pieces began to come together, everything else rushed faster and faster to the forefront – like hurtling through hoops to make it to the end.

"That's very kind of you, dear," he decided in a low voice, relaxing a little now that she seemed okay with it. "I just want to be sure. Since we…you know…" he shrugged. "May be family. Soon."

Now she looked at Marshall for a little bit of guidance. He was smiling softly, a silent signal that he approved of the way she was behaving. Maybe even that he was proud of her. Slowly, shielded by the counter, he reached for her hand and she took it at once.

"She likes white roses," she offered in a small voice. "And that sparkling cider from the…" she gestured with her free hand inaccurately. "…That…haughty, snooty restaurant downtown. You can buy it in a case."

This was obviously the only approval George needed. He beamed and dashed around the counter so fast, with the agility of a much younger man, and pulled her into a choking hug. She had no intention of getting mushy so she let him have a very brief moment before pawing him away.

"All right, all right…" she wiggled out, knocking into Marshall. "Save your energy; you're gonna need your wits about you. Don't waste all your blubbering man cries on me."

Marshall chuckled behind her and offered better sentiment, sticking his hand out for the second time that day.

"Good luck to you, sir," he mused with a genial grin. "We'll be there with bells on."

"Oh…wonderful-wonderful…" George proclaimed, very hopped up now that his decision had gotten the seal of approval.

All of a sudden, Mary was no longer worried about Jinx saying yes. It occurred to her – like being hit in the head with a brick – that the reason she'd held off was probably because of her. At her age, it might not have been as important to go the official route, but Mary didn't imagine that would be stopping her if she knew her oldest daughter would be okay with it.

"I've gotta get all my ducks in a row now…" he declared, still lighting up like the proverbial Christmas tree.

"Just be calm; you'll be great," Marshall assured him.

"Thank-you," the fact that such politeness ran in Mary's family was still baffling to her. "Thanks to both of you…I'm gonna get going…"

It was Marshall, who was on steadier legs, that walked him to the door, still offering his words of encouragement and praise. He even stood on the threshold and waved him out, letting a warm and pleasant breeze waft in through the open door. It was sweet and whistled high in the trees, reminding her of lush green leaves and sun-dappled sidewalks. It was a minute before Marshall finally closed the wind back to the outdoors and faced his wife, who was trying to look modest because she knew what was coming.

She allowed him to saunter over, a ridiculously lovesick smirk on his face, wiggling his hips like he was doing some awful Elvis impersonation. She fed him her best stare of disgust before he turned back into his sweet, charming self, wrapping his arms around her back to her belly and kissing her temple.

She grinned because he couldn't see her and patted his hands resting just below her navel.

"You're a good girl," he whispered in her ear. "That was quite a stride you just took; you made me proud."

She couldn't pretend that last statement, especially, hadn't made her smile. He always knew _just_ the right thing to say.

"But what made you so cool with it?" he obviously couldn't resist asking, still murmuring in her ear. "You weren't faking that. What's changed since yesterday?"

"I don't know…" she answered truthfully. "It just clicked, I guess. Took me long enough," she added bitterly.

"Better late than never," he insisted. "Honest."

Was he ever anything _but_ honest? In the best possible, most fantastic way?

He'd begun to sway her now, back and forth, back and forth in the middle of the kitchen at four o'clock on a Saturday afternoon. They were the world's biggest nerds. But his hands were long and gentle, his arms strong and safe, and his breath in her ear, singing sweetly into her heart was everything. She well-remembered the longest eleven days of her life in which she had yearned for this and she'd vowed never to take it for granted again.

It was after several minutes of his relaxing, running rhythm that he started kissing her neck, up and down and through her hair. She knew what was on his mind and knew she'd have to keep him at bay. Sam would be back with Mark any minute.

And there was something else she needed to get done before he returned.

"Marshall?" she whispered.

"Hmm?"

"Can you do me a favor?" she posed, a little timidly, but she got it out just the same.

"Hmm?" he repeated. "What?" he was agreeable.

She hoped this decision wasn't based on spontaneity and emotion, but even if it was it didn't matter. Marshall would know what to do. She trusted that.

"Would you take my letters?"

He stopped swaying, stopped kissing.

"Take them where?"

"Just…take them…" she went on calmly, still pressed against his chest. "Keep them – for me."

He wasn't responding, so she made herself slide out of his grasp even as much as she hated it. But she needed to look at him, needed to show him she was serious.

"I used to think about giving them to Jinx or Brandi, but they don't want them," she knew this was true. "Just…take them and keep them wherever you want," she advised. "You don't have to tell me where. I'm not even sure I want to know where. I trust you."

Meaning she trusted him not to toss them, if that was what he thought she wanted. Or he could hand-pick. Or he could leave them where they were. Or he could plaster them all over the bedroom walls. They were his now, if he was so inclined.

"You're sure?" he peered low, catching the green glint in her face. "You're okay…not knowing what I do; where they are?"

Mary checked herself to make sure, doing as he asked.

"Yeah," she said softly. "Maybe I'll learn to keep letting him go if I don't know where they are – if I can't delve into them whenever I want," she suggested. "Just so long as I know they're safe…if…" he could still get rid of them. "…If you think that's best…" her voice trailed off.

He stepped up to her, wrapping her back into his arms, her hands splayed over his back. He was the lighthouse in the dark, the port in the storm, the beacon of brightness for sailors abandoned at sea.

"I would be happy to," he informed her, even as he held her. "I'll take care of it."

"Thanks," she said at once, and he nodded in recognition.

She wasn't ready to let him go just yet, a little shaken from all the decisions being made in such a short space of time, and Marshall obviously sensed it. He hung on just a little tighter, running his hand over the back of her hair, waiting until she was ready to be released.

"Mare…" he finally interjected quietly. "I feel it is pertinent to tell you that if I am claiming ownership, I am going to throw away July 28th."

It was the one that had caused all this grief. And what did she need with it? All that crap about Brandi, that judgment of Peter, reminders of the kidnapping, and Raph thrown in at the end.

"Go ahead," she promised, and then he seemed to think it was okay to let her go.

She also hadn't missed him sharing which one he was going to pitch out, which meant he would keep the others – someplace, somewhere. Maybe he'd prune them off one-by-one. She wasn't sure, but she trusted him to know what was right.

She also didn't have time to dwell or backtrack, because there was a second rapping knock at the door, but no need to answer because the knob turned and a cheerful greeting carried through the house. Marshall had obviously left it open when seeing George out.

"Hello-hello!" Mark called, joyful as usual.

"Hey!" Marshall answered a little too quickly, clearly in an attempt to seem casual.

He made his way into the living room and Mary followed, seeing that Mark had not only Sam, but Jesse as well. This was a surprise, since only two had left the house and as far as she'd known, they'd had no plans to stop by Brandi's on their little outing.

"Where'd you come from, outlaw?" she asked her nephew, who was enjoying a green snow cone. Even in just a day, his eye was starting to look better and was slowly turning from purple to yellow.

"Mom and I ran into Mark and Sam at the movies, and Sam asked if I could go with them to get snow cones," he reported happily.

Mary was thrilled, hardly daring to believe such a fantastic occurrence had come to pass. Maybe they wouldn't need to chat with Sam after all. Maybe with everything going on with the Brandi situation, he would warm back up to Jesse on his own. Or at least realize he didn't have it as easy as it looked.

"How fun," Marshall chimed in. "Where's yours, Sam?"

"I finished on the way home," he said. "I mixed strawberry and lemon."

"Was it good?" his dad asked.

"Really good."

"Thanks Mark," her husband was always extremely cordial to her ex. "For tagging on the extra man; you're a good sport."

"Oh, it's no problem," he assured Marshall. "I actually got to field some interesting questions from Jesse," he smirked mischievously.

Mary had no idea what he was talking about, but Marshall was panicking internally, fast and furious. He'd never thought Mark and Jesse would come into contact, especially so soon after he'd told Jesse the truth about Sam's conception. How awkward could it have been? Was Sam upset – maybe even Mark too?

But Sam was completely aloof as he said, "I didn't know you told him I've got Mark's DNA."

He was still a huge fan of that phrase. And Mark always took it in stride.

Mary, however, flashed him a completely flabbergasted look, eyes wide before he managed to smile sheepishly and coyly, hoping she'd understand.

"It seemed like the right time…" he offered lamely.

She shook her head, but kept quiet.

"Mare, don't get hypertension," Mark waved a no-nonsense hand viewing her annoyed features. "We talked, we had snow cones, it was a ball. No harm done."

The men were always much more casual when it came to this situation, even Sam himself. She frequently made it into a much bigger deal than it was these days.

"I feel like I've been conspired against," Mary grumbled, crossing her arms over her middle in defense.

"Twelve years, and you cracked the code!" Marshall played, mock-serious with his mouth wide open. "The jig is up!"

Sam and Jesse cracked up then, even Mark, and seeing the two boys laugh together put Mary at ease. She knew everything wasn't fixed; knew they could drift apart as easily as they had once before, but right now they had today and this moment and that was really all she cared about. The torn patches could be sewn at a later date.

"Hey…" she diverted from the topic, remembering their visit earlier. "We got some news while you guys were gone…"

She figured it was okay to share. Judging by George's reaction, he was ready to shout it from the rooftops and she was now so confident in believing Jinx would say yes.

"Guess who's gonna get married?"

"Who?" it was Mark who actually asked, like he was the little kid while the boys waited expectantly.

"Jinx," she revealed shortly.

"_Jinx_?" Sam burst, his eyes bugging with a weird, gaping smile on his face. "But she's _ancient_!"

"Sam!" Marshall scolded, but he grinned too.

"So she'll have a wedding?" Jesse asked.

"Presumably," Marshall nodded. "A small one, probably."

"Only, you two keep your traps shut…" Mary warned, wagging her finger back and forth across their faces. "Don't go blowing it for Jinx before George gets to ask."

"Scout's honor!" Jesse declared cleverly, making Mary smile again.

"Things are switching up around here," Mark commented with his old, familiar gaze directed at Mary. "Don't know if I can keep up."

Mary wasn't sure she could either. But for the first time in awhile, she kind of _liked_ not knowing.

**A/N: Hope you all like the little twist! We're winding our way toward the end!**


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N: Thanks for your reviews!**

XXX

The call from Jinx didn't come until Sunday night. Mary had been starting to wonder if George had given in to his pre-proposal jitters and called it off, but her Blackberry sang its sweet tune in just over twenty-four hours from their visit, and then it was all official. Jinx was breathless and tearful on the other end, not giving Mary time to get a word in edgewise. She made a spontaneous decision to come out to her and Marshall's to celebrate, inviting Brandi, Peter, and Jesse along for the ride. Refusing would've done no good; her mother was filled to the proverbial brim with giddy, girlish glee.

And so, Mary had her house far fuller than it usually was on a Sunday evening while glasses of sparkling cider were passed around along with some box of fancy crackers Marshall dug up. He'd practically forced his wife to give up her wedge of expensive cheese she'd purchased for Stan's retirement so they'd have something to put on them.

Oddly, the oldest daughter found herself watching the frivolity from afar – Marshall, Peter, and George making light conversation, Jinx and Brandi fawning over bridal magazines, Sam and Jesse teaching Mark to play that stupid card game – Spit or Sputter or Spat or whatever it was. Fortunately, when her phone rang it gave her an excuse to remove herself, since she wasn't engaging much anyway.

"Hello?" she answered once she made her way into the kitchen, her absence not even noticed.

There were dirty plates of crumby crackers on the counter, Sam's and Jesse's empty cider glasses nearby.

"Hi honey; how are you?" asked the voice on the other end.

Mary felt a grin escape without even thinking about it as she took the plates and cups to the sink. She hadn't been sad exactly, more subdued. She still felt all right with everything starting to shift, but sometimes it was a lot all at once, even when she made the effort. Carolyn continually put her at ease, and it was then she realized she'd felt the same way the other day, and with this thought came another.

"I'm sorry; I forgot to call you back," she didn't even say hello, resolving not to wash the dishes until she was off the phone. "When we talked…" she leaned with her back to the counter, trying to remember. "…Whatever…day that was…" she finished like the self-absorbed daughter-in-law she was at the moment.

"…Sorry," she offered again.

"Oh, please; as if I don't know the routine," Carolyn continued breezily. "And you didn't _actually_ say you would call me back, you just told me to hold my thought, which I did, thank-you very much," she boasted, sounding just like Marshall. "Not as easy as it sounds when you get to be my age."

If Mary were the type, she'd tell Carolyn she wasn't of a certain age – mostly because she didn't like to think of her that way – but she wasn't, and the woman knew it was implied.

"I knew you'd be able to store it in there somewhere," Mary said, completely tuning out the gathering in the living room. "What thought are we talking about?"

She couldn't even remember what they'd been discussing, and Carolyn chuckled at her being the one with the impaired recall.

"Well, let's start with this," her voice went on through the speaker. "How is Mr. Jesse?" she inquired. "Still struggling to get up the mountain?"

"Uh…kind of…" Mary relayed, the prior conversation coming back a little bit better now. "Brandi and Peter are back; they're here right now, actually."

"On a Sunday night?" Carolyn knew the workings of their schedule way too well.

"Well…" Mary shrugged, and then realized Carolyn couldn't see her. "Long story," she didn't feel like breaking the news just yet, although she would before banter's-end. "We were talking about Jesse," she interjected quickly to get back on track. "Didn't you say…?"

"That I had the perfect person to talk to him, yes," her mother-in-law finished, and Mary could just picture her nodding in approval.

"It was…" Mary's eyes strayed to the action beyond very briefly, seeing how pleased Jesse was to be spending time with Sam. "It was really nice of you to think about him," she clued back in, trying to focus. "You didn't have to."

They weren't even blood relatives – not even close. He wasn't even Marshall's nephew by blood, so Carolyn's branch on the family tree extended even further out, but she had forever insisted Mary's family was her own. She'd never given up that trait; her loyalty, her convictions always amazed Mary. She'd searched her whole life for someone like that.

"Oh, it's not like it was a strenuous effort…" Carolyn gusted on easily. "He's a very sweet boy; he reminds me a lot of…"

She paused in thought while Mary waited.

"…Well, of who I thought he could chat with actually," she advised with a kind, light laugh. "Which is Claire."

It _was_ perfect. And so perfectly _obvious_, Mary couldn't believe she hadn't thought of it herself. Maybe because she wasn't like Carolyn in that she didn't consider Brandi and the brood part of Marshall's extended family, but she really should.

Claire, who had to be upwards of fifteen these days, had always had that understated sparkle and appeal that got her by but didn't get her noticed. She, like her grandmother, always took care to express interest in Mary and her relations. She knew she'd be more than happy to play mentor to Jesse, even if it just came in the form of a few phone calls now and again.

"That's brilliant," Mary breathed without preamble. "You surpass Marshall with that kind of thinking."

Carolyn laughed again and spouted at once, "As it ever, the God is bringing like and like together."

Mary smirked, not knowing the reference but knowing it referred to those who meshed between Mann's, Shannon's, and Alpert's – Carolyn and Marshall, Claire and Jesse. Sometimes comparisons could be used to unite rather than divide.

"It's Homer, the Odyssey," Carolyn reported when Mary didn't respond. "One of Marshall's favorites from high school."

"I don't doubt it," Mary said, still smirking.

"Anyway," Carolyn cut in swiftly, reverting back to her idea. "I thought Claire and Jesse would make great little tag-team buddies over the phone. She's always been a little bit of a late bloomer…"

Perfect.

"And she's very good with the boys; so warm and lively," the grandmother praised in her best maternal fashion. "I know…"

Carolyn's voice turned soft, just a little bit sad as it dipped in octave, but it didn't change how genuine she still was.

"I know it helps just to have another person to talk to," she whispered. "Another heartbeat chiming with yours."

Mary could've sworn her own heart teetered dangerously on the edge of cracking with this statement. She often didn't let herself think about Carolyn too much – out in Kansas, by herself, widowed with three grown sons and now four near-adult grandchildren. She hated to think someone with so much love to give had lost all outlets to pour it into. She knew she'd taken Claire under her wing as she had Mary, and her daughter-in-law was dually impressed with how sincere the young girl was turning out.

"Thank-you…" Mary murmured, not sure any other phrase would do it. "Jesse will love having something to look forward to. And I know Brandi will really appreciate it."

"Well, I like to think one good soul can do for another," Carolyn cheered up, through being overly sentimental. "I'll talk to Julian and have Claire give him a ring tomorrow. She's very punctual; I'm sure she'll want to set up future calls on a schedule," the woman laughed fondly, and Mary did too.

"How are the other kids?" Mary found herself asking, wanting to keep Carolyn on the phone after her previous statement. "Have you seen them recently?"

"Oh lord…" she breathed tenderly. "Quinn's graduating next weekend."

"From _high school_?" Mary was floored.

How could such a thing be possible? She remembered so well his bright, dynamic eyes, the quirky way he trailed along after Daniel, marching to the beat of his own drum. He'd only been six years old on that first fateful trip to the homeland, and suddenly Mary saw his face, his feet thudding in the dust, striving toward home plate.

"Yes-yes…" Carolyn reinforced. "I don't know where the time is going…"

"I wish we could be there," Mary found herself admitting out of nowhere.

"Not to worry; you're sending a gift," Carolyn informed her coyly, which meant Marshall had already taken care of it without Mary's knowledge.

Mary grinned and waited for the rest of the report.

"I think Sophie and Sarah get home next weekend too…"

"They're at separate schools aren't they?" Mary wanted clarified.

"Yes," she agreed. "Sarah's at K-State which is about three hours, but Sophie's at KU which is only forty-five minutes. Daniel's there too."

"He's a freshman?" Mary was trying to remember, but found she couldn't.

"A sophomore, actually," Carolyn corrected.

_What_? Where _did_ the time go?

"And they're all doing just fine from what they're fathers tell me…" she plowed on without giving Mary a chance to say anything. "Hard to say though…"

The same low, reflective tone played inside her voice again and Mary sensed why this time. Suddenly, the sounds from the living room rushed back in – she'd blocked them out to listen and she heard Marshall and Peter laughing, Jinx and Brandi gushing uncontrollably at the dresses in the magazines.

"I don't see much of them these days," Carolyn admitted. "They're busy boys and girls; it's just me and the Claire Bear in our neck of the woods."

Mary felt badly for her once more, wishing she could ship Sam on a plane – Jesse too – and send them out at this very moment. Carolyn adored her grandchildren, and she proved it with her next words, not choosing to dwell on the state of affairs.

"How's my Sammy boy?"

Mary could hear her smile as she went to the fridge to see if she could unearth something else to drink besides the cider; she was getting sick of it and needed something to do with her hands.

"Disgustingly fantastic," she teased, and Carolyn laughed appropriately.

A silence fell between them while Mary came up with a Diet Coke to sip on, and Carolyn seemed to take the lack of words for uneasiness. Nothing got by her and nothing escaped her memory.

"Things are all right there?" she prompted delicately. "Guests on a Sunday night and all…"

Mary had told herself she'd spill, and she was being given the opportunity for a second time, so she might as well do it. There was nothing to be nervous about, so she wasn't sure why she'd been feeling the need to keep it to herself.

"An unexpectedly big night here at Chez Shannon," she tried to joke. "George proposed to my mother."

Carolyn reacted instantly – understated but pleased, just as Mary liked it.

"Isn't that lovely," she shared benevolently. "She must be so happy."

"Delirious would be a better word," Mary worked in another uneasy laugh as she said it. "But yes."

She took a gulp of her drink while she thought of something else to say, while she told herself over and over that she had done the right thing by letting George go through with his plan. Her happiness wasn't the only one that mattered; Jinx had held off long enough and she didn't need to be corralled by Mary's run-amok-daddy-issues any longer.

But in a phrase reminiscent of Marshall, her mother-in-law showed she understood.

"You okay, honey."

It wasn't a question. Mary kind of liked it that way. She didn't have to pretend.

"It comes and goes," she responded quietly. "But I'm getting there."

Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow. But she was. She was getting there.

And if she was going to be truthful, she might as well have done with it. Watching the living room full with just one too many people, even if that person was harmless and genial, it still nagged at her. It was the way they looked so much alike; it was those similar features that unnerved her.

"It was also Mark's weekend with Sam, so he's hanging out too."

There was a pause, and Mary imagined Carolyn was working out just the right statement that would cover all the bases so they wouldn't have to discuss it any further than two quick sentences and be done.

"You know he loves him honey; that's _all_ that matters."

Carolyn often used this comment or some version of it when it came to Mark, to help Mary block out all the external pieces she let invade whenever her ex came to the city. If she could just boil it down to one thing, it made those select Saturdays and Sundays a little easier.

"Yeah…" she whispered, chewing her thumbnail. "Right."

"Okay…" Carolyn segued into her conclusive tone easy as pie, having heard what was going on at the house. "I ought to let you go; you have guests to entertain…"

"Yeah, right," Mary scoffed.

Carolyn chuckled too, "Tell your mother I say congratulations."

"I will."

"And I'll make sure Claire calls Jesse tomorrow."

"Thanks," Mary said again.

"All right honey; you be good now," she advised like the mother she was. "We'll talk soon."

"Goodnight Carolyn," she murmured.

"Goodnight."

With that, she removed the phone from her ear, placing it back in her palm. She stared at the lifeless screen a moment or two, picturing Carolyn thousands of miles away maybe doing the same thing. And when she heard the sounds of her son and nephew, mother and sister, her soon-to-be-step-father, husband and brother-in-law, even a cordial ex-husband in the next room, she knew she shouldn't be disdainful. Carolyn would give her right arm for a sudden house full of people and Mary knew she should be grateful.

She was so busy being insightful; the footsteps that approached her were startling, though she managed not to jump.

Looking up, she found Jesse standing there, hands behind his back and rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. Absurdly, he reminded her of Stan. She remembered there was more change to come.

"Hey man," she greeted him, slipping the cell into her pocket. "What's up?"

She snuck a look at his eye; a pukey shade of yellow now, but much less impressive.

"Nothing," he shrugged. "You've been in here awhile."

"I had a call to take," she informed him. "Want a cookie?" she peered into the jar on the counter to see if there were any left.

"Sure," he agreed, and Mary handed one to him. "Who was it?" he asked, taking a bite, mumbling around the chocolate chips.

"Marshall's mom," Mary replied. "She was just checking in."

"You tell her about Jinx?" he inquired, sticking his tongue out to snag a few stray crumbs around his lips.

"I did," she nodded.

Jesse got quiet for a minute, crunching on his cookie and looking pensive about something. Mary was just glad to see him up-and-running; he was by no means out of the woods on anything but solid walls on all four sides of his life were helping to cement his world once more. Not to mention, summer vacation was on its way.

"You think I'm gonna get married?" he rose completely out of nowhere.

Mary tried not to laugh too hard, "We talking about today?" she didn't manage to hide her smile, though.

"No," he even chuckled himself. "I just meant…someday. Or you think I'll be as old as Jinx before I do?"

The scene was just too hard for Mary to picture – some faceless, grown-up Jesse with that brilliant head of blonde hair under some arch of flowers with cheesy organ music. It didn't compute – not now.

"I surely don't know, Jess," she answered truthfully. "But I hope so."

That was something she was _definitely_ sure of. She wanted her boys to be happy.

Jesse nodded at her response, maybe not have been expecting anything better as he polished off his cookie, not taking his eyes off his aunt. But his gaze was changing, and he glanced over his shoulder at the group in the living room before he decided to speak again.

"I wanted to tell you something," he whispered furtively. "But…I didn't want the others to hear because…" he shrugged, trying to be nonchalant. "Well…because I wasn't sure they'd get it."

Mary was perplexed, but knew she needed to hear him out.

"Well, spill it outlaw," she advised. "What's on your mind?"

He swallowed and glanced over his shoulder one more time, and Mary distinctly saw his eyes land on Sam once before he did indeed 'spill it.'

"I just wanted to tell you…" he began again. "That…" his cheeks went a little bit pink with embarrassment, but he didn't give in and kept on. "That I think its okay you still miss your dad."

Mary just gaped at him. He really did glean more than _anybody_ – even she – gave him credit for. He didn't have to hear the words or be in the room to know what went on around him. He was smart. He really-really was.

"Well Jess I…" she shook her head, but wasn't sure why. "I'm really…I really don't know how I feel anymore," she was forced to admit. "It's still confusing sometimes."

Jesse shook his head too, "I know Sam said it _wasn't_ complicated, but I think it _is_," he declared boldly. "I mean, I wish he'd been nicer to you and my mom but…Marshall said it's just 'stuff' you have to deal with, so…" he shrugged blandly, not finishing.

"Marshall said that?" she asked, though she didn't really need to.

"Uh-huh," he nodded again. "About how I have stuff and he has stuff and you have stuff and even Sam has stuff…"

Now 'stuff' was starting to sound silly and Jesse giggled before he gave Mary his trademark, sweet little smile. She'd missed seeing it.

"Well, I appreciate the support man," she decided to conclude. "It helps."

It did, strangely enough. Eleven years old or not, this kid had made her heart lift on more occasions than just tonight.

And the other kid who, more often than not did the exact same thing, was strolling into their circle in the abandoned kitchen, but Sam was looking much-less confident. It was odd seeing the role-reversal on the two of them – Sam evasive, Jesse casual, but it was a nice change. Who knew change could be so nice?

"Jess, I think Mark's got the hang of that game now," Mary spoke up. "Why don't you go show him up like the card shark you are?"

"Mom says we have to get home soon," he reported while Sam continued to shuffle in the background. "Since I have to go to school tomorrow after all."

"You do?" Mary hadn't heard this.

"Yeah; mom talked to the principal I guess and they don't want me to stay home now…" he shrugged. "But it's probably since I have a test and they're going to make me write a note to Tyler…"

Notes just got you in trouble, Mary thought.

But what she said was, "Well, then you'll have time for one more game. Better hurry."

"Okay," he agreed once more and jogged off, leaving Mary alone with Sam.

She was pretty sure she knew what this was about. He'd spent so much time with Mark over the weekend they hadn't been together very much, and certainly not alone. Not since their quarrel on Friday evening. She recognized the droopy, sad puppy quality of his blue eyes; the way he shifted and looked from the ground to her and back again.

"What can I do for you Smush?" she finally prompted.

He sighed, swaying a little bit, eyes straying but when he made his choice, he locked right in. It was a good thing they were by themselves.

"Mom, I never said I was sorry about…" he swallowed. "About what I said."

She gave the hallmark mom-response, "It's okay Sam. I knew what you were trying to tell me."

"Yeah, but…" he opened a little more now that Mary had given him some leeway. "Dad was really angry that I upset you so much and I know if he's gonna get that mad then…"

Granted, it sounded like he was only apologizing due to fearing Marshall's wrath, but Mary knew it was something else. Marshall being _truly_ pissed off was a rare occurrence because he was so good at keeping his emotions in check, so when he succumbed Sam always knew he meant business.

"I mean…I know I shouldn't have said it," he prattled on without giving Mary much time to answer.

"Don't lose sleep over it," she advised. "I'm fine. You know me; I'm a tough broad. I can dish it out _and_ take it."

He grinned appreciatively seeing her joke and she knew it was because she was playing the role she was expected to in front of her son. It was important for him to see that she had a strong exterior, even if the interior was a little bit muddled.

"I guess I just said that because I was…" Sam shrugged, attempting to explain himself in more detail. "…Well, I just thought that he was making you so miserable and…"

What other sixth grader used 'miserable' in sentence context? And yet at the same time, she knew his careless words had come from worry and she could certainly relate to that.

"I don't understand it myself sometimes, Sam," she admitted.

She reached out and patted his hair, knowing this was as affectionate as he'd want to get.

"But thanks for trying to help me figure it out."

There was nothing dishonest about that statement. It was largely for him that she was trying to press on, trying to adapt to the change, letting Marshall hold some of her most treasured artifacts.

"It's like dad said," her son continued. "I wouldn't like hearing somebody didn't want _me_."

Mary felt her throat go dry at these words, remembering all of her anxiety about the similarities between her and James in terms of giving your children away like they were hand-me-downs. Sam could never know such an option had been considered for him. Mary wasn't sure how that would go off, but she didn't imagine very good.

And she felt a pang of understanding for Brandi and the drug debacle. They weren't so different really, and she knew Sam wasn't the only one who should be apologizing.

"Mom…" he gazed up at her, letting her hand rest in his hair; he considered briefly but decided to go on. "You can't tell me what it is?"

Mary was thrown, letting her fingers slip away on her own. Sam rushed to explain.

"That…makes you miss him? Please?" Sam never begged. "I'd really like to know."

She could tell. And this was less of wanting to know so he could prove he was right. He wanted to know just to know – to understand, to relate. He was growing up so much.

"Sam…"

She kneeled in front of him as she had when he was a very little boy. But he was taller than she was if bent her legs this way now. He could look down at her – just slightly, but enough to make her see what a young man he was becoming.

"Let's play devil's advocate here…" she suggested, sounding like Marshall.

She kept her poker face up to the letter.

"Say…you came home one day…" she had to change it up a little. "And I was gone," she had to make it herself, not Marshall, but Sam interrupted quickly.

"Yeah, but you wouldn't do that," he claimed.

Sure she wouldn't.

"We're role-playing here, Sam," she rolled her eyes. "Work with me."

He grinned and nodded, allowing her to continue.

"You didn't have a clue where I'd gone or why I'd left," she persisted. "And here's the real kicker…"

She tried to smile too, to make this all seem very run-of-the-mill, without adoption papers flying through her head.

"Dad doesn't know either," she decided. "And I left you a note telling you how much I loved you, but I didn't leave anything for dad – or for Brandi or Jesse or Jinx."

Sam shook his head, not entirely sucked in.

"But mom…you just wouldn't do that…" he insisted. "I can't pretend…"

Mary took hold of his arm, catching his eyes in hers, making certain they were in-sync.

She whispered to him, so he'd have to lean in to hear.

"_Try_."

Seeing her so serious, so steadfast, Sam decided to do as told. He sighed fist, and then screwed up his face in concentration, furrowing his brows and moving his mouth from-side-to-side in thought.

"Well…" he finally said. "I guess I might wonder if something happened to you…" he offered with a shrug. "Like at work or something…"

Logical, reasonable, not uncommon in their world.

"All right," Mary nodded. "But I left you that note, which means I knew what I was doing. I couldn't predict getting hurt. I obviously went on my own."

A second sigh from her son. He'd asked, and now he was paying the price.

"I guess I'd try to think of where you might've gone," he told her. "And why you didn't tell dad about it. Or why you picked…" he paused with a bewildered look. "_Me_ to write a letter to."

This was an interesting take, one Mary had not expected but they were getting there. It was slow and it was tedious, but they'd almost made it. Mary squeezed his forearm to guide him the rest of the way.

"What would you understand the least about me going?" she murmured softly.

She could see the comprehension dawning – see the light going on, the alarms sounding, the compassion that seeped into his clear blue eyes. He took a leaf out of her book with the single word – breathing it into her as the conception came.

"_Why_?"

And once he got it, the rest fell into place.

"Why didn't you stay for me? Why didn't you tell me? What did I do?" he was so intelligent. "Why didn't you come back?"

They were so close it was very easy to lean in and kiss his forehead, and she was almost amused by the perplexed look on his face at finally seeing what she did, at least in part.

"Smush, would you ever _stop_ wondering why?" she asked. "Even if it didn't matter anymore? Even if you could never get me back?"

He was speechless as he shook his head, and the weight fluttered up and clear out of Mary's chest. It was hurt as well as love that kept Mary clinging to James, but mostly it was that fated why – she'd never know.

"Sam, of course I wouldn't do that," she reinforced, her guilt over nearly giving him away almost evaporated. "I would never want you to feel as alone as I did when my dad abandoned us."

The shaking switched to nodding, and Sam molded ever-so-slowly back into his ultra-confident self.

"He should've come back and told you," was his response.

Mary didn't know what to say but settled on, "I guess. It probably wouldn't have changed things as much as I think."

"I guess not…" Sam opted to agree.

There was still a tiny part of her son that didn't quite grasp it, just the part that saw Mary as forever miserable at the hands of his supposed-grandfather, and as he'd told Marshall, he didn't want that for her. He wanted to help now that he'd been clued in.

"Maybe you should just try to remember the things you _did_ like about him…" he suggested. "That way he won't make you so unhappy."

It clanked Mary over the head for the second time in two days. It seemed so obvious. If she wanted to hold on, why _didn't_ she hold on to the parts that mattered? Hell, she'd said it herself. She'd said it to Marshall.

_If you can only remember the crap, what's the point of having any memories at all?_

She ought to take her own advice.

Car trips in the dark, ice cream just the two of them, stale Oreo cookies, pet rocks, the picture of her with her head on his chest.

"I shouldn't idealize him, bud," she found herself saying even as the recollections flooded. "Just because he was good to me for awhile doesn't outweigh him breaking the law and dumping us."

She was trying to convince herself, not him although she knew deep down his idea would hold. All she had to do was pull in those better moments, and she could let the rest fade away.

"But at least he wasn't _all_ bad," Sam placated her. "I shouldn't have said he didn't want you…"

He looked right at her, and even though he'd already said his piece, he obviously felt the need to get it out with a little more sincerity now that he'd heard the rest of the story.

"I'm sorry mom…" he shook his head. "I'm really sorry."

Mary stood and tousled his beautiful, downy-soft hair, and smiled at him.

"Thanks."

When he looked up at her, he was grinning slightly too. There was even a small bit of pity in his gaze, but it was so faint Mary could handle it.

"Mom…" he sighed, remembering her fear of isolation. "You know you're _not_ alone anymore. Don't you?"

_That_ was what he wanted her to know. She didn't have to take care of herself, or shut herself away or rely on the dead man who'd abandoned her to make her feel special.

Mary patted his hair one more time, her heart swelling with more joy than sadness.

"Yes, Sam," she assured him. "I sure do."

**A/N: I hope the Sam explanation is sufficient! I actually changed it several times, so hopefully it calms the waters between him and Mary in a believable way! **


	21. Chapter 21

**A/N: A simple XOXO to start us off! ;)**

XXX

Come Monday afternoon, Mary finally started to feel like things were getting back to normal. Although they were hosting Stan's retirement gathering the next night, plans were in place; Jesse was back in school, Mary and Marshall both back at the office for a full day in the Sunshine Building. Not to mention, Mark had boarded the plane to return to Jersey, seeming to think Jinx's impromptu engagement soiree was a good substitute for Stan's party being pushed out.

When three o'clock rolled around, Mary appealed to Marshall across the room at his desk to make sure everything was, indeed, lined up for the next night.

"You ordered the ribs, right?" she looked up from her work, biting her nails like she was nervous. "And the pork rinds?"

"You don't _order_ pork rinds," Marshall corrected her. "I picked them up at the store yesterday; I'll grab the ribs on my way home tomorrow; I already put my name in."

"I just…" Mary began.

"You've asked me about thirty times," Marshall remarked dryly. "It'll be a cinch. We have the ribs, we have the rinds, you got the jelly beans, Delia's bringing the muffins; we'll get the cake tomorrow, and I've got red velvet cupcakes in the works…"

"In the works?" Mary narrowed her eyes skeptically while Marshall continued working without a hitch. "What does that mean?"

Red velvet cupcakes were Mary's favorite; not many people were aware of that.

"Someone's bringing them," her husband mused casually.

"Someone _who_?" Mary was not going to be baited into this. "How many people are going to invading my home, eating my food and drinking my wine and generally giving me more exposure to the human race than I typically care to engage with?"

Marshall finally looked up, appropriately exasperated with such an attitude.

"The hostess doesn't usually pick the guests, Mare," he reminded her. "We started with a party of ten…"

"You, me, and Stan…" Mary started ticking off on her fingers.

"Sam and Jesse…" Marshall continued.

"Brandi, Peter, mom, and George…" Mary counted nine.

"Two of which in that group will _not_ be drinking your wine, just as a friendly reminder," Marshall interjected cheekily, and Mary scowled.

"And Delia," she finished. Without even giving Marshall a chance to open his mouth again, "And I don't remember any of them offering to bring red velvet cupcakes."

"Stan added two more," Marshall conceded with a would-be-relaxed shrug. "Twelve is hardly country-club worthy."

"What two?" Mary was becoming increasingly suspicious.

But her husband was spared the task of answering when Stan himself emerged from the office, in his shirt sleeves once again. The weather was rapidly turning warmer and they were holding out on running the air conditioning to avoid the monthly bill before June. Stan looked sweltering, and his shiny face was rosy, yet genial.

"Go home, you two," he announced without introduction, fanning himself with a file folder. "You're spinning in circles on nothing that's earth-shattering at the moment; get out of here and rest up for tomorrow."

They'd both been uncharacteristically tired with the big evening the night before; although it was rare they both made it into the office at the same time these days.

"I'm almost finished," Marshall informed their boss. "Then we'll pack up and go."

"Speak for yourself; I've still got stuff to do," Mary griped, the workaholic that still lived in her rearing its head.

"We took the SUV this morning," Marshall reminded her. "If I'm going, so are you."

"Don't make me turn it into an order, inspector," Stan jumped on the bandwagon, classically wagging his finger. "Whatever you've got can wait until tomorrow, or at least until you get home," he rationalized.

Mary continued frowning until Stan's fatherly grin broke her down and she gave a resigned, spectacular roll of her eyes. But to Stan, it was as close to a yes as he was going to get.

"But before you take off," the chief assumed he had been successful in his attempt to get rid of his inspectors. "I need one of you to dig up my files from when I was first assigned to Albuquerque…"

"Are those down in the vault with the mimeographs and ditto pages?" Mary snarked and she heard Marshall laugh before he answered.

"They're in my cabinet back here," he jerked his thumb at the one behind his desk. "What do you need them for?"

"Archiving – just a precaution," Stan explained. "See you two tomorrow."

Both called their goodbyes as Mary offered to do the unearthing, while Marshall completed whatever he was doing before they took off to greet Sam arriving home from school. She stacked up her papers and tossed her phone, keys, and sunglasses into her tote before pushing her chair back and heading across the room to join her husband.

Standing behind him as she nosed around in the bottom drawer of the file cabinet, she could hear the steady scratching of his pencil, the way he shifted in his chair as he reached the end of a line. All sounds that were part of Marshall, sounds she loved, sounds she could listen to over and over again. He helped solidify how firmly she'd always believed that conversation didn't take precedence.

She ended up having to hoist the entire panel of folders out of the cabinet to get a handle on them, and when she did she found that the bottom of the drawer was littered with abandoned pieces of slick paper, most commonly of the four-by-six variety.

Once she found the proper documents, she set them aside and, curiosity getting the better of her; she fingered what she knew to be old photographs strewn across the bottom.

"Did you know you had all these in here?" she asked, none of them very surprising shots; ones she remembered having been on Marshall's desk at one time or another.

"What are 'all these?'" he inquired, turning in his seat to see Mary crouched on the floor. "Oh, yeah," he shrugged. "I didn't have anywhere else to put them once the desk got too full…"

Mary nodded as she pawed through pictures of Sam at varying ages, his hair turning from maple syrup to deep brown; front-toothless in December of his first grade year, proudly showing off art projects in second, and candid after candid of the two of them together. Much as Mary enjoyed pictures, she didn't love being captured so all the shots Marshall kept had her caught off-guard with her son. There was even one of her asleep on the couch – looking completely awful so she was glad it was in the drawer – Sam maybe a month old passed out on her chest.

She reached out a finger and traced his little body, hardly daring to believe he had ever once been so small. Marshall turned to check on her again, and he chortled softly.

"I thought sure you'd smack me when you found out I took that," he joked. "You weren't such a fan of your new-mom physique," he recalled.

"Why; because I was shaped like a Teletubby?" she murmured disdainfully.

"Only without the head gear," Marshall remarked. "Like any Teletubby is that gorgeous a month after giving birth."

She felt her face go red and was grateful she was turned away from him, convincing herself it was just the late afternoon sun streaming through the high windows. He still knew how to make her feel like a silly schoolgirl who snuck a kiss during passing period.

She'd almost cleaned the drawer out before she noticed one, rather large shot upside-down straight across the base. She had to peel it loose, unable to get her fingers around it; it had obviously been in the drawer quite awhile.

Once she was able to slip it out and turn it around, she felt the cliché lump in her throat at seeing it was one of Sam's sonogram photos – most likely, the one she'd given to Marshall after they'd returned from her first excursion to Kansas after Seth had died. That meant she would've been about six months along, and the outline of the unborn Shannon reminded her so forcefully of that day.

"Huh…" Marshall articulated fondly, swiveling around in his seat another time. "I'd forgotten I put that one in there…" he reached out to take it and Mary obeyed, still sitting on the ground.

"You remember when you gave me this?" he asked, proving he could still read his wife's mind.

"Yeah…" she murmured shortly. "Jesus…sometimes it seems like forever ago and others…"

"Seems like it was yesterday," Marshall finished for her, and she nodded.

She saw him grin at the frame of blacks and whites; squinting at his son's unborn figure, "Look at the schnoz on him…" he chuckled, referring to his nose. "No way was it that big when he came out."

Mary decided to leave him to his memories while she stuffed everything back in the drawer, knowing Stan was waiting for his files. There would be nothing in this space now except the pictures; they'd have to remember to fill it up with something more useful as time went by.

Just as she was about to slam it shut and call it a day, her eye caught one she hadn't looked at closely enough and she pulled it out to get a better look.

"Did you take this?" she asked of Marshall while she studied.

"Yeah," he answered, peering over his desired photograph to see which she was looking at. "Well, me or Peter. We were both snapping a lot that day."

It only made sense, because the shot in question showed Mary, Brandi, Sam, and Jesse in the hospital just days after Jesse had been born. Brandi was in bed, looking appropriately groomed for pictures; her hair pulled back. Her blue eyes shone as she cradled the positively miniscule Jesse, curled up against her chest and fast asleep. His mouth was hanging wide open, but Mary remembered it was one of the first clear attempts they'd gotten of his face not all scrunched up. He'd been a few weeks early and a little small; like a tiny, soft football.

Mary was sitting next to Brandi in a chair and trying to corral eighteen-month Sam, who had loved the flashes on the camera and was reaching outward as though to touch them. He had on jeans and a plaid shirt, and Mary felt her heart teeter seeing him look the part of the sheriff. There was a devious grin on his face; he was almost sliding off Mary's lap trying to get at all the brightness and Mary had one of her hands up waving to the camera, trying to get her son to pay attention.

"I love that one," Marshall went on with their conversation. "You all look way happier than you actually were," he made himself laugh. "You were _pissed_ we were trying to get so many shots in one sitting."

"Sam couldn't even contain himself!" she protested in defense. "And you two were going to blind poor Jesse; no wonder he conked out. Brandi was the only one having a good time."

"Ah, the new-mom-glow…" Marshall mused philosophically. "Nothing like it."

"Whatever doofus," Mary waved an irritable hand and tried to be as nonchalant as possible as she asked, "Mind if I confiscate it?"

He shrugged unconcernedly, "Your mug, your call."

"Thanks," she told him, and she finally lifted herself off the floor, kicking the drawer shut with her foot and stooping once more to grab Stan's files before they made their departure.

Marshall finished his work within the next five minutes, and then the two of them were on the road back home, ready to get a more soothing night's sleep before the work and festivities that awaited them on Tuesday. What Mary didn't expect was to find Brandi and Jesse in her living room when they got there. Now that the parents were back, she'd figured they'd confine themselves to their own home.

They were just sitting on the couch, lounging around like it _was_ their home. Mary didn't exactly mind, but it piqued her interest and she got to the bottom of it at once, Marshall in tow.

"What's the story?" she asked, sliding her sunglasses onto her head and throwing her keys and phone onto the end table by the door. "Should I consider this breaking and entering?"

Brandi and Jesse stood up in unison, looking a little bit rehearsed, while Marshall went to the kitchen to find something to drink.

"How was school?" Mary found herself asking before either her sister or her nephew could respond.

She'd been wondering after Jesse's little incident, especially given he was still supposed to have been suspended. Maybe the district was wising up and figuring out keeping kids who didn't want to be at school in the first place _out_ of school wasn't the best solution.

"It was good," he nodded, still at Brandi's side, but looking a little bit nervous.

Their behavior was very strange, even given everything that had gone on. Mary and Brandi hadn't said much to each other since the evening they'd fought, given that her sister was all caught up in Jinx's engagement. But as far as she knew, Brandi and Jesse were on their way to patching things up and she wished they would spill before she got annoyed.

"Jesse actually has something that he wants to ask you…" Brandi recited stiltedly, and she nudged her son forward like he was about to approach a podium.

Mary flashed Marshall, who was stationed at the counter, a look of bewilderment before she turned back to Jesse.

"Well, let's hear it," she invited, now wanting to get this over with.

He took a deep breath and Mary realized that his impeccable manners were about to return, which meant things were indeed shifting back into gear. She noticed Brandi had an innocent, obliging look on her face as though she wanted Mary to 'go easy.'

He swallowed once more before proceeding.

"I got to school today, and we had a new girl in our class…" he began. "She's from Santa Fe, and I'm not sure why they had her come to school at all since it's going to be over in like two weeks…"

He paused, shifting his eyes sideways as a way of showing he found this of little importance, and went on.

"But anyway, she was all by herself at recess so I asked her to play with me…"

Mary's heart began to sing – chanting and humming in a hopeful, spirituous rhythm. He'd stepped up; he'd gone outside his comfort zone. Mary internally prayed the results had been good.

"And she's _really_ nice!" he obviously couldn't resist bursting the rest. "We shot hoops on the goals at the other end of the playground and she's great at basketball…"

It was like feet thudding in her ribcage; gazelles and zebras on stampede

"And she's new, so I know she must not have any friends, and so…" he swallowed again, and Mary sensed the important part coming. "So I asked her if she wanted to come to Stan's party tomorrow – I didn't tell her what it was for; I promise!" he declared proudly. "I just said he was sort of like a policeman and he wasn't going to be anymore and that there was going to be a party and…"

His face was flushed he was so excited and Brandi looked near tears at seeing him finally getting a break, finally having a bout of good fortune.

"She said she'd ask her mom, but can she come?" there was such an earnest shine in his green eyes. "Can she please come, Mary?"

Mary had absolutely no inkling of saying no, but Marshall either thought she was going to or was just as joyful as she was about it, because he bounded right back into the living room and spoke before she got a chance.

"Of course she can!" he practically boomed, and Jesse beamed; a broad and genuine smile stretching across his face. "What's her name, man?"

"Ellie," he answered at once. And then, unable to resist the gratitude, "Thank-you!"

And he dashed the two strides to reach his uncle and threw his arms around his waist, forgetting Mary completely. Marshall chuckled and so did Brandi; Marshall smoothed his hair beneath him and lifted his gaze to his wife's in happiness. She was keeping herself calm and moderate as she always tried to in such situations, but Jesse's delight was going to get contagious.

"No problem," the man assured his nephew before releasing him.

"I'm gonna call her mom tonight to make sure we're on the same page," Brandi finally spoke again. "I saw her real quick after school, but I wanted to make sure it was okay with you guys…"

"It is absolutely okay," Marshall blundered on. "The more the merrier."

Brandi smiled at him, endeared to his easygoing, gentle personality. Jesse was still grinning breathlessly, like he couldn't quite believe his luck. But as he came down off the peak a little bit, he seemed to note that Mary had yet to say anything and turned to his aunt for approval.

"Is it all right with you if she comes, Mary?" he ventured cautiously.

Mary hadn't meant to make him think otherwise and was quick to nod.

"Yes Jess," she created the unintentional rhyme and corrected herself, "Stan will love having another heathen around; it'll make him feel youthful."

Jesse giggled and repeated his prior words of sincerity, "Thank-you."

Mary shook her head, smiling softly, "Quit thanking us; you brown-noser," she teased, jabbing his chest with her finger and he laughed again.

"Come with me, Jess," Marshall decided, waving his hand to indicate the kitchen. "I'll find you a snack; you can tell me all about this Ellie. She cute?"

This earned him yet another, much more embarrassed giggle as Jesse tried to follow him to the fridge, but then Mary remembered the four-by-six in her bag and why she had impounded it from the bottom of the file cabinet.

"Hang on Smoosh," she put up a finger to stop him and he obeyed while she buried her head in her tote at the side of the couch. "Got something I wanted to show you…"

The three of them waited while she came up with it and Jesse stepped over once he saw the page emerge, anxious for a glance.

Looking at the tiny baby in the hospital photo, the over-boisterous brown-haired boy, not to mention Mary and Brandi; he put the pieces together pretty quickly.

"Is that _me_?"

"Of course it's you," Brandi told him before Mary could come up with a smart remark. "And Sam."

"That's Sam?" he laughed, pointing to the child in the picture. "What's he doing?"

"Trying to catch the flashes. It was all I could do to keep him on my lap," Mary answered.

Jesse chuckled again, running his thumb along the edges of their outlines, like he was fingering Mary's long honey hair, circling the pink spots on Brandi's cheeks. Marshall had been right – they did look happy. If they weren't, they'd hid it quite well.

"Were you really all by yourself when I came?" Jesse inquired after a moment, turning to look up at his mother.

Brandi took pause, "…Is that the word on the street?" she fumbled.

"No," he replied seriously. "It's what Mary told me – that dad was in a meeting, and Jinx was a dance competition, and she and Marshall were in Kansas. So you were alone."

"I was for a little while," Brandi responded truthfully, eyes not leaving her sister's. "Dad showed up pretty fast, and Mary and Marshall flew back from Kansas in case dad couldn't make it."

"Yeah," Jesse grinned. "She told me that too," and then his eyes found the photo again.

Brandi offered Mary a soft smile when he wasn't looking, and Mary guessed this was supposed to be a silent thank-you for making her seem somehow heroic during her childbearing years.

"Jess, do you want to keep that?" Mary found herself asking him to avoid the conspicuous looks.

He turned to his aunt, "Could I?"

Mary spared Marshall a brief glance, as the photo-hoarder, but he nodded without hesitation.

"It's yours," she reinforced.

Perhaps to keep Jesse from offering another set of thanks, Marshall persisted in getting him in the kitchen.

"What do you want to eat Jess?" he inquired. "Fruit roll up or those cinnamon graham crackers?"

Jesse answered, still holding his picture, and followed his uncle, leaving Mary and Brandi by themselves in the living room.

Mary didn't relish an awkward silence or even an awkward discussion, but she still wasn't sure what to say to Brandi after they'd sparred. Granted, they were very used to arguing but it was usually about nothing. James and earlier days was a much more sensitive subject and could not always be brushed over so skillfully.

"I guess Sam's not here," Mary voiced over the babble of Marshall and Jesse at the island.

"No…no…" Brandi shook her head. "He wasn't when Jesse and I got here; I guess he must've gone home with someone."

"Probably," Mary agreed unnaturally cordially, and then the hush fell again.

She shuffled her feet, knowing she ought to speak up, to just put out in the open what both of them were thinking, but it wasn't as easy as all that. Admitting fault was somewhere ahead and Mary never did well with that.

Fortunately, Brandi took the plunge first.

"Mare, about the other night…"

"What about it?" her sister interrupted for no good reason, already argumentative.

"I just…" Brandi shrugged. "I'm sorry that I blamed you for what happened," she confessed, sounding much like Sam. "You didn't have anything to do with it – you were right; I should've told Jesse way before now."

"I do enjoy hearing I'm right," Mary quipped. "It's not like I _wanted_ him to find out."

"I know," Brandi sighed, brushing her bangs out of her eyes as she continued. "And I never thanked you for taking care of him when he was so upset. I mean, if there's anybody I'd want him to be with…"

She cast her a fleeting, admiring glance and Mary felt her defense abate a little bit. Brandi was very good at weeding her down when she reminded Mary of just how much her little sister looked up to her – even now. Mary may not have done the _best_ job she could've raising her, but she still looked to her for guidance and that had never changed.

"Don't get sentimental, Squish," was Mary's less-than-heartfelt response, even as she realized.

"Mary…" Brandi breathed, eyes skirting into the kitchen momentarily to make sure Marshall and Jesse were still occupied. "Just…there are times I don't think I amount to much when I see how Jesse looks at you…" she admitted. "I really don't compare…"

"Brandi, don't be stupid," her sister said bluntly, but there was meaning behind it. "You're his mother; he's not supposed to think you're cool or fun or at all entertaining or amusing. You're just his mother."

Brandi nodded, knowing this was true, but still wanting to be something more. Even as they both remembered having the 'party mom' and not loving it. It was never as awesome as it seemed.

"You think Sam thinks I'm anything to sneeze at?" Mary pressed on. "You know how much he favored you when he was younger."

"He favored Marshall, actually," Brandi chuckled softly, and Mary found herself doing the same, nodding in agreement.

"He still thinks you're pretty great," Mary found herself saying. "Jesse, that is," she clarified. "Why do you think he was so pissed about what happened? He thought you were perfect and hung the moon."

Brandi looked a little guilty as she digested that, but it wasn't how Mary had meant for it to come off.

"Every kid learns their parents aren't perfect at some point," she decided. "You should count yourself lucky Jesse got eleven years of thinking you were – better off than the two of us."

Brandi tried to smile at that, knowing what Mary meant even if it wasn't very poetic. Mary also knew now that Brandi had done her part and owned up; it was her turn to do the same. If she just got it over with quickly, even if she didn't necessarily believe some of it, she could be done and move on. That was her song these days.

The younger Shannon seemed to sense that Mary was preparing herself and had the sense to keep quiet. The mention of their parents had brought it back for both of them.

"Brandi, you aren't a screw-up," Mary muttered in a very low voice, eyes pointed upward into her face because her chin was tipped toward the ground. "One day, I might remember to act like it."

"Maybe someday," Brandi mused with a smirk. "You might just be growing up, Mare," she teased playfully.

Hey, if Jesse was, perhaps she could too.

**A/N: Just a handful of chapters to go!**


	22. Chapter 22

**A/N: It's party time!**

XXX

"Don't touch my ribs, inspector!" Stan reached across the counter and batted Mary's hands away from the meat piled high in the tin. "I let you get at it; there won't be any left for the rest of us."

Mary pulled her fingers back, scowling deeply as Marshall bustled around setting out napkins and cups. The house looked pretty much as it always did; Mary had insisted Delia keep all the decorations to a minimum. The most that had been put up were some navy blue balloons, but for Mary the food was ornamentation in and of itself. In addition to the ribs, the cake was sitting on the table in the corner waiting to be cut, and three bags of jelly beans had been emptied into bowls like appetizers. Stan had already devoured half the first dish, popping one after the other into his mouth.

"I got the balloons all blown up for the race!" Delia proclaimed from the living room.

Mary frowned again seeing her couch adorned with a heap of helium.

"Who the hell had this idea?" Mary wanted to know, jerking her finger behind her. "For Christ's sake; we're not five-year-olds. We might as well play pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey or musical chairs," she griped.

"You know kiddo…" Stan mused, sounding philosophical as he came jaunting over to her. "I don't know what I'd do if your usual sunny attitude wasn't in full force at my last day with the service…" he smiled deviously. "Just wouldn't be the same."

Mary grabbed a handful of jelly beans to avoid answering, and distinctly felt Marshall pass behind her, brushing her back as he did so.

"You never had a good party without a balloon race; that's what I always say," Delia click-clacked over to the counter, still grinning cheerily. "Test those reflexes, Mary. This is gonna be quite a jamboree – such a funny word; jamboree," she chuckled at herself, something Mary still found obnoxious but she resolved to keep quiet.

"Where are those red velvet cupcakes you promised, doofus?" Mary appealed to Marshall instead. "And where is my child…?"

She threw up her hands, as though Sam had only just occurred to her. She was getting very antsy and twitchy; she'd never been much of a hostess.

"Would you cool out?" Marshall advised composedly. "Don't you listen? Brandi and Peter said they'd pick him up and then they'd go by Jesse's school to get him and Ellie."

And yet the idea of more people in the house didn't comfort Mary. She eased her way out of the small space the kitchen was becoming and returned to the opposite side of the counter for a little more breathing room. Both Marshall and Stan shot her conspicuous looks, but Delia was so busy babbling she didn't notice.

"Now I've got the muffins by the cake and there's soda for the boys and – oh, I just can't wait to meet Jesse's little friend!" she squealed girlishly. "I bet she's just a dear!"

Mary rolled her eyes as she heard the knock on the door and slumped over to answer it; a ready-made excuse to leave Delia's perturbing excitement to the men. However, she was only halfway there before the door opened of its own accord and Jinx pranced in, trailing George on her arm and holding her hand at the most-awkward of angles so everyone was sure to catch the glinting diamond.

"Hello darling," she gushed, stopping to peck her cheek briefly even though they'd just seen each other two nights before. Fortunately, she didn't get any further greeting because she projected to the room at large, "Congratulations to you Chief McQueen!" waving her hand spectacularly brazenly.

"And to you as well," Stan smiled politely as he nodded his head at the ring he couldn't possibly have missed. "When's the big day?"

"Oh, nothing definite yet," Jinx said airily, still flashing her hand this way and that; she was likely to lose a limb if she continued such behavior around Mary. "Maybe fall – before Sam's birthday, say September or so…"

"September," Mary interrupted sharply without thinking. "Mom, that's really soon…"

"Yes honey, I know," Jinx barely looked at her, proving she wasn't listening, nor did she care. "But when you get to be our age…" she threw George a glowing grin and he helped himself to the jelly beans. "There's no point in waiting."

"You can't possibly get everything together that fast," Mary protested, raining on the parade as usual.

"Well, we could just go to the courthouse if that would satisfy you," Jinx guffawed, and Mary had the distinct impression she was being made fun of.

She didn't get a chance to retort before Delia tottered back into their midst from organizing muffins on the back table to fawn all over Jinx's ring.

"Oh, isn't that stunning…" she mooned. "Who's throwing the bridal shower?" she inquired eagerly.

Jinx chuckled, her face turning pink at all the attention. Mary had to admit, she did look completely enraptured with the situation. It brought on more of Mary's guilt in suspecting she had waited so long just for her, but in the here and now she couldn't have been happier.

And then there was a second knock at the door. Marshall, maybe seeing that Mary would not be the first choice to greet guests at this particular moment, raised his eyebrows at the sound.

"I'll grab it," he offered, dusting his hands on his jeans. "Babe, pour some drinks for the kids, will you?" he asked.

Mary felt her own face turn red at being called 'babe' in front of other people, which made her think she somehow favored Jinx. However, she obeyed Marshall's instructions and went to the fridge while he made for the door.

Turning the knob, he found most of the rest of their party waiting on the other side – Brandi, Peter, Sam, Jesse, and a little girl just slightly taller than his nephew with sandy hair and freckles that he guessed must be Ellie. He also guessed Sam must've forgotten his key because they wouldn't have knocked otherwise.

"Hello-hello…come in…" he stepped aside to allow them through, a better host than his wife.

"Thanks Marshall," Brandi stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek just as Jinx had done with Mary.

"Dad, did you convince mom to do the balloon race?" Sam wanted to know up front as his aunt and uncle commenced with the festivities.

"It may take some doing," Marshall admitted. "Of the pin-her-down-and-gag-her variety."

"Ruthless!" Sam declared. "Can I do the gagging?" he asked mischievously.

"A house full of Marshal's and we let you talk like that," Marshall said fondly. "Go say hi to Stan," he instructed. "Tell him congratulations."

"I know; I know," Sam nodded, having been through the politeness speech before.

With that, he abandoned the scene to do as told, leaving Marshall alone with Jesse and Ellie in the open doorway. Jesse was smiling, looking very cheered and excited about all the anticipation ahead. Ellie appeared shy; a little shrunken next to all the activity. Her sand-colored hair was in a long ponytail down her back, bangs framing huge brown eyes, giving her the appearance of a doe.

Marshall did what he could to put her at ease.

"You, little miss, must be Ellie," he almost fell into a bow to greet her, offering his hand and a wink. "I am Marshal Marshall; Jesse's uncle."

She took his fingers but said apprehensively, "Marshal Marshall?"

"He's teasing," Jesse assured her, obviously loving being in the know. "He and my aunt are US Marshal's, but his first name is Marshall too, so he's Inspector Marshal Marshall Mann."

"Guilty as charged," the man proclaimed as he stood back up.

"A Marshal's like a policeman?" Ellie asked curiously.

"Correct, more or less," Marshall shrugged. "And our head-honcho policeman is leaving the service so we wanted to send him out in suitable fashion…" he put a hand to the side of his mouth, mock-inconspicuous. "He's the short bald one, but pretend not to notice."

Ellie offered him a shy smile, but had nothing to say.

"Ellie, huh?" Marshall pressed on. "Is that short for something?"

"Eleanor," she answered hastily. "Some people think its Elizabeth, and I wish it was. I hate Eleanor."

"Someone call my name?" sang a proper voice that was breezing through the open door and carrying a bin of red velvet cupcakes.

Marshall glanced up and found himself stretching into a spontaneous grin as he recognized the permed hair and sweet-scented perfume of his former office manager – savvy and quick-witted Eleanor Prince, organizer-extraordinaire. She was dressed in a marvelous floral skirt and matching shirt with a denim jacket; curls piled high on her head. She hadn't changed a bit and Marshall, for one, was glad Stan had invited her.

"Hello Marshall; so good to see you," she said before the man could get out some words of his own. Her eyes fell to Jesse as she continued, "If I remember correctly, this one isn't yours," she pointed at the blonde head of hair.

"No, this is Jesse," he affirmed. "Brandi's. Mine is…somewhere in the kitchen probably gulping down all the Dr. Pepper…" he smiled. "Good to see you too," he added.

But even before the pleasantries were out of the way, his ears tuned in to the sound of Mary's disapproving squawk as she recognized their eleventh guest, Marshall shutting the door as a means not to let the cool air out.

His wife barreled onto the scene, causing Jesse to giggle and whisper to Ellie.

"_This_ is who was bringing my red velvet cupcakes?" Mary wanted to know, her eyes wide with apparent alarm.

"_I_ invited her," Stan interrupted, sidling in as well and patting Jesse on the back as a means of saying hello. "Last time I checked it was _my_ party and you were still in my employ, so I'd batten the hatches if I were you, inspector," he grinned, daring her to get nasty with him.

Marshall was less concerned, knowing about the groove in which Mary and Eleanor operated even not having seen each other for years upon years. Sam had been about four the last time they'd come into contact, which was when Eleanor had come into town for a few days to give words about an inquiry detailing her former post at the FBI. He doubted Sam remembered meeting her.

"The frosting is buttercream, Mary, and don't you look lovely," Eleanor rattled off flatly in one breath as Mary snatched the container, peering at the contents as though they might be a reasonable price for having Eleanor in the house.

"Should I be worried about what went into them?" Mary inquired, a skeptical eyebrow raised, one darting back-and-forth from the treats to the baker's face.

"Oh you know," Eleanor shrugged casually. "Anthrax, cyanide…nothing out-of-the-ordinary," she lied so blankly it was almost believable.

"Am I going to have to do a write-up on you two?" Stan asked, playing right along while Jesse and the young Ellie stared curiously.

"Not today Chief," Eleanor broke character a little and softened, "Congratulations," she bent to kiss his cheek, much of that going around today.

While the pair of them caught up and ventured further into the kitchen to make conversation with the rest of the guests, Marshall did his duty as world's greatest uncle and put in his effort to make their youngest charges not feel left out. Jesse and Ellie were still standing mostly where they'd started, a little unsure what to do with themselves now that Mary had not put on quite the show for which she was known.

"Mare?" he appealed, trying to get her head out of sniffing the cupcakes.

She glanced up and he jerked his head at Jesse and Ellie, and she clued in fast.

"Hey Jess," she murmured, snapping the lid back on the Tupperware. "Got a girlfriend?" she couldn't resist.

But the boy took it in stride, almost glad for the excuse to make a big deal – that was largely why Mary had done it.

"You know she isn't my girlfriend!" he chastised. "I just met her yesterday."

"Forgive this one," Marshall chimed in, putting Ellie at ease. "She likes to make jokes. Most of which aren't very funny."

"Beats hanging around with this one who'll give you an hour history lesson outside the confines of a school building," Mary shook her head as they weaved into their natural rhythm.

"Really?" the little girl's already big eyes grew bigger. "Like a teacher?"

"A boring teacher," Mary muttered in an undertone, wondering if she could sneak a cupcake with nobody noticing.

"They do this _all_ the time," Jesse assured his new friend.

"You bet," the woman replied swiftly and then she looked at her guest head-on. "I'm Mary, by the way – the brainiac over there and I are married."

"So…you're…Jesse's aunt?" Ellie wanted clarified.

"Yup," Mary reinforced. "Got saddled with his mom, my sister Brandi, when I was six," she sighed dramatically. "Never found a way out."

She was careful to feed Jesse a well-timed, good-natured wink as she said this, and he grinned appreciatively.

"You two should go get some food before it's all gone," she advised. "Don't let Sam drown himself in the pop; I can't have him hiccupping like some drunken sailor all night."

Both kids laughed at this, and Jesse didn't even seem to find the reference of being drunk an issue.

"We have muffins, we have jelly beans; I think there's potato chips somewhere…" Marshall ticked off on his hand.

"Not my Doritos," Mary raised a warning finger, which Marshall ignored because Ellie spoke up.

"I like jelly beans," she said. "The green ones."

"Go pick some out," Marshall told her, and she grinned again before allowing Jesse to lead her into the kitchen where everyone else was milling around.

Mary had to wonder if this girl was going to become overwhelmed by day's end – all these people and only her second day in town. However, she certainly seemed to be adjusting well and Jesse was having a fabulous time playing tour guide. She saw Marshall watching the scene affectionately, reveling in all the pleasure there was to be had.

"That's everybody isn't it?" Mary asked as he slowly made his way over to her so they could commence in the kitchen as well.

"Still waiting on one," he said. "Twelve, remember?"

"That was before Ellie," she reminded him, and he tried to take the container of sweets from her arms. She hung on, playing tug-of-war with it briefly before he chortled and managed to pry it loose.

"Nice death grip," his blue eyes twinkled approvingly. "If I were you, I'd try to rein that in for the remainder of the afternoon."

"Oh yeah, and why's that?" she snarked, flashing him one of her best dubious glances.

"Because I don't fancy you wringing my neck when you see…"

But the final knock sounded, cutting Marshall's words in two. Fortunately – or unfortunately depending on your point-of-view – those who had arrived last had left it open a crack, and their visitor seemed to take this to mean they could come right in.

Mary turned around and was met with the second unexpected face that day. When would these encounters quit? Mark, Raph, Eleanor, and now…

"_Dershowitz?_"

There was no mistaking that shiny head, reminiscent of Stan's; the holster snaking under his jacket, and the look of complete un-impress on his face at seeing Mary. Marshall managed a weak smile for his wife before shaking the man's hand and deciding to ignore her gaping mouth and what were soon to be narrowed eyes.

"Oh, lord…" Bobby D. shook his head as he scanned Marshall to Mary and back again, evidently trying to picture the two of them as a couple; neither had seen him since he'd been transferred to Chicago. "Mann, you are a brave soul; I don't know how put up with this day in and out. Doesn't endear me to you, inspector, I gotta say."

Marshall chuckled, "Somebody needs to keep her in line, right?" he nudged Mary with his elbow, but she was rapidly turning on the spectacle, prepared to be on her A-game for this astonishing bout of company.

"What brings you Dershowitz?" she asked smoothly. "State of Illinois boot your ass out of dodge; forced to return and beg the southwest to take you back? Fat chance, _I gotta say_," she repeated him intentionally, striking each word.

"I was transferred back in to New Mexico a year ago heading up Roswell PD," he informed her bossily. "Beats having to shuffle your delinquents under the radar at every turn," he continued. "Although the word on the street is neither one of you are doing much throw-down lately."

He bit his lower lip in anticipation of goading Mary about this, not even considering Marshall any longer, and Mary began to wish as she recalled her prior days of sparring with Dershowitz that she did have a more impressive recent résumé.

"What keeps you bolted to the desk, my friend?" he prodded, putting his hands in his pockets as he waited for an acceptable answer.

Mary shrugged, not having one. She didn't especially want to bring up the real reason fieldwork was no longer a priority, but apparently Marshall didn't think there was a problem with it.

"I took some lead in the gut about four years ago," he explained. "Lost a kidney, spent almost two months in the hospital…" her husband went on swiftly. "Time to hang it up, especially with a kid…"

"Whoa-whoa, wait," Dershowitz's eyes bugged as he completely brushed over Marshall being in serious traction, latching on to the final phrase. "Lord help us all if you have children," he turned back to Mary, obviously relishing all this change he got to chew up.

"Then lord help you all," Marshall responded nobly, spreading his arms wide. And without further ado, "Sam!"

It took their boy a minute to untangle himself from charming all the guests, weaving among the plates and silverware, before he appeared at his father's side to see why he had been summoned.

"What's up?" he asked, actually looking at Mary for the answer. Seeing Dershowitz and remembering his training in being cordial with a quick wave, "Hi. I'm Sam."

"We were just getting to that," Marshall interjected. "Bobby; this is indeed Samuel Mann Shannon, going on thirteen come October."

Bobby reached out to introduce himself to their son, "Good to meet you, my man. You got quite a set of parents here; I used to work with both of them."

"Yeah, I figured," Sam nodded. "Stan too?"

"Yeah; thought it was the least I could do to stop by," he answered. "Kind of miss brawling with the terrible trio," he joked, and fortunately it was to Sam who would get it, and not Jesse. "Your mom could give me a lot of grief," he winked.

"She's good at that," Sam declared, and Mary rolled her eyes while Dershowitz cracked up.

"I'll tell you dude, you look just like your dad," Bobby told him when he finally calmed down.

Mary remembered Raph in the market and wasn't sure how Sam would respond.

Until, without a pause in the least and a sweet smile he answered, "Yeah. I do."

**A/N: Jayne Leigh, you're a genius! You guessed my surprise guests! Two chapters to go!**

**By the by, how'd everyone enjoy episode two? I am loving Mary and the baby, I have to say. Marshall acting out Shakespeare was to die for.**


	23. Chapter 23

**A/N: Only one more to go after this!**

XXX

The early part of the party went without incident. Against his will, Stan was fairly tickled pink at having so much focus being on him. Marshall, who was an excellent storyteller, entertained everyone with WITSEC-appropriate tales of their many adventures, Eleanor and Bobby D. chiming in when they had an excursion of their own to share. Jinx and George hovered at the edges with Brandi and Peter, all of them enjoying the festivities as well – laughing in all the right places and doing their part to keep Jesse and Ellie happy and occupied. Mary thought Jinx was likely to have been content no matter; she was shining like a beacon in George's embrace, unable to keep her eyes off the dazzling rock on her fourth finger.

As the clock inched toward 5:30, Mary knew balloon-race time couldn't be far away and she was still wracking her brain as a means to get out of it. Even though the evening was fast-approaching, with summer on its way it was staying light later and a warm, orange-purple haze was hanging low in the sky in the distance.

She heard Delia make the suggestion just as she pulled the wrapping off her second red velvet cupcake.

"I wouldn't be against booking it to the backyard and starting some fun and games!" she teased invitingly, and a chorus of something between moans as well as cheers met her statement.

Mary looked up to see that Marshall was already catching her eye where she stood sequestered against the outer counter. She knew in just once glance that he had resolved to save her ass; he had a plan up his sleeve. No team of US Marshal's, detectives, and grandmothers were going to be caught dead waddling with balloons between their legs.

"You know, just to play devil's advocate here…" Marshall turned on his extra-octave voice, commanding attention at once. "What do you say we switch things up?"

"What did you have in mind, inspector?" Stan asked curiously.

"Well, I've got a hoop set up out front and I know we have two _very_ skilled ball-handlers in our midst…" he locked in on Jesse and Ellie and they exchanged a hopeful glance.

"I'd be game for a little three-on-three, four-on-four," he made his best 'compromise' face, willing the others to go along.

Mary thought it was brilliant. No one was going to say no to the two youngest guests, if for no other reason than to keep them content and busy. Mary had never been much for sports, and she knew Sam wasn't either but it sure beat childish birthday games. It would also disperse the group a little, since they'd be forming huge teams if everybody played.

"Could we?" she heard Jesse whisper to Brandi, staring up at her with his big green eyes.

Brandi addressed the rest of them with a single, wishful stare and Mary realized that Jinx often made the same face when she wanted something. It was uncanny.

"Well, I'll play if they will," Brandi told him. "I'm not very good, but I suppose I can learn as I go," she joked.

"Yeah, I'm in too," Peter spoke up, which was no big surprise considering who his son was.

Mary, who was standing nearby and with a mouthful of cupcake, felt Jesse's eyes on her, wanting her to agree. She'd never had a problem undermining Delia, even what it mattered, and so she held out her hand in a low-five to indicate she was on board, unable to speak at the moment. He grinned and smacked lightly, practically bouncing up and down in his anticipation.

"Sam, you're game aren't you?" Marshall's tone held a distinct quality to it, saying his son was expected to agree.

Mary wasn't always a fan of such methods, but she was glad Marshall had reverted to it. Sam didn't always catch it for what it was, but some intuition told him what the voice meant.

"Yeah, sure," her child nodded. "But we're uneven if Ellie's playing too."

He was right. There was no way Jinx and George were suiting up, and she couldn't imagine Eleanor gallivanting around the court in a skirt and high heels. That left them with Stan or…

"I suppose I can slide some of my smooth skills up and down the drive," Dershowitz decided pompously, removing his jacket as he said it. "See if you Marshal's can keep up with the detective."

Jesse couldn't contain himself, "Yes!" he shouted.

Mary was startled to see him snatch Ellie's hand and bolt for the door like he was on fire. He really did seem younger than Sam even though they were just a year apart, but seeing him this thrilled made it all worth it. She wanted to keep him that way; she wanted what she'd told Marshall – for him to be okay.

Brandi chuckled at his enthusiasm as they trooped to the door and Marshall dug a basketball out of the front closet; Eleanor and Stan followed, but Jinx and George stayed behind, Jinx waggling her newly-adorned finger to indicate something.

"You go ahead darling," she called to Mary. "George and I will start cleaning up."

"Thanks mom," Mary told her, knowing the two of them could be alone for the next century and be just fine.

It was funny how she'd always wished Jinx could achieve that and now she had.

It was steamy and muggy outside, like there might be rain on the way; Mary could smell the faint hint of ozone wafting up from the cracks in the sidewalk. The sun was a great, fiery mass slipping behind the Sandia Mountains beyond; bright, vibrant orange. Streaks of purple and pink stretched through the wispy clouds. It was Albuquerque at its finest.

"I guess I'll have to stand in as whistle-blower," Stan offered once they were gathered on the driveway, tossing his jacket aside as well and rolling up his sleeves. "Ms. Prince here can be my informant for the sticky fingers out there…" he pointed his best bossy finger at Mary.

"You expect me to play with a biased ref?" Mary wanted to know, throwing Marshall a wild look.

"I think we have a very fair man in the post," he declared, sticking his chest out.

"Kiss ass," Mary muttered quietly enough Jesse or Ellie couldn't have heard, but Sam certainly did because he chuckled and shook his head.

But Jesse was clearly too caught up in the splendor of getting to play because he was blasting off like a rocket in trying to explain the rules. Mary continued to be surprised; he was usually so shy he'd never have spoken up like this. Amazing what having a friend could do for you.

"We have to pick teams," he told them officially. "Which means we need captains."

"Dad could be a captain," Sam suggested. "Mom can be the other. No way should you guys be on the same team," he declared, like it was obvious.

"And why not?" Mary wanted to know, sticking her hands on her hips and raising an eyebrow at her son.

"You're like a machine," he said, as though she should've known. "Not fair to the rest of us."

Mary had-had no idea Sam thought of them that way – as so frighteningly in-sync, and was surprised to see Jesse nodding in agreement. Was this a general consensus?

Did she care? In the recesses of her mind she realized she was kind of proud of it.

"All right Mare, take your pick," Marshall seemed to think this was the best route to go while Stan leaned against the garage, whispering at Eleanor on his left, Delia on his right. She didn't seem at all perturbed by the change in plan.

Mary sized her lineup, it feeling very familiar to prisoners in the cell block. Dershowitz in his navy tie, Peter in his jeans and polo, Brandi barefoot since she'd been wearing heels, and Sam, Jesse, and Ellie bringing up the rear. Her choice was easy, really. Not for skill or stamina, but because her own little lightning bolt was likely to be a lot less offended if she didn't pick him.

"Alpert – J," she called, waving Jesse in, and he bounced up on the spot, racing over and skidding to a halt at her side.

"All right Sam the Man – you're with me," Marshall took his turn and his son grinned.

Mary ought to have known he'd want to be on Marshall's team, and not just for being tall and lanky, practically able to dunk if he really reached. She was about to snag Peter next when she felt Jesse tugging on her arm, pleading in his face as she looked down at him.

"Pick Ellie," he hissed. "She's really good."

Like Sam, Mary knew this wasn't the reason he wanted them on the same side, but his internal thought was much better. She couldn't expect this girl to saddle up with strangers; she needed to be with her friend.

"Ellie, you're in!"

Everything whittled down quickly after that when Marshall proceeded with his choice.

"P. Alpert!" he declared.

This left Mary with Bobby D. or Brandi – slim pickings if ever she saw them. She was _not_ going to buddy-up with Dershowitz; no matter what they said. But Brandi was sure to be awful and it might've just been a friendly drive-way match up, but Mary was known for her competitive ire whether it was needed or not.

Still, she thought of Jesse, she thought of wanting him to seal the cracks with his mother, and her emotions made the decision for her.

"All right Squish, I guess we need to keep you on Team Shannon."

Brandi smirked in an irritated sort of way as she joined them, seeing her sister's mock-aggravation for what it was. Her blue eyes looked oddly large in the dim light of the early evening when she stepped close and whispered so only Mary could hear.

"You don't fool me," she said in an undertone.

"I've heard that before," was Mary's response.

Now it was time to get all this supposed frivolity on the way. She was voted in to do the jump-ball with Marshall, which was a huge joke considering how much taller he was than her, especially since she wasn't wearing her usual heels or boots. And when you stuck under-height Stan between them, it was even more amusing.

She spied Sam getting into the spirit of things on the other side, flanked by all the men. Then it occurred to her that Jesse was on a team with all girls.

But before she could laugh, Stan had heaved the ball and they were off.

It certainly wasn't the most organized game Mary had ever been a part of. Jesse, for all his excitement, wasn't especially limber and tended to loop the ball granny-style when he got desperate. Ellie did fairly well for her size, but Brandi, as expected, was dreadful. She squealed when the ball got too close and passed it off as quickly as possible, usually at the unsuspecting Mary.

But the longer they went on, the more ridiculous maneuvering took place and things definitely got interesting. Brandi started doing some spectacular fouling, hitting Peter in places like the shameless flirt she was. Marshall picked up on this idea and started doing the same to Mary, which put her face on fire, not used to all the public displays of affection.

When they were nearing the end of their designated twenty-five points, she saw Sam with the ball, dribbling into the basket and decided she'd get in on the action. She threw out her arm to snatch him around the middle in a perfect, well-timed reverse clothesline. He had no clue what had hit him and he staggered, caught in his mother's grasp.

"Mom!" he cried, fumbling the ball and she palmed it while he struggled. "No fair!" she was pleased to hear that he was laughing.

Her big hands gave her just enough support to lob the ball to the nearby Ellie, who was giggling feverishly watching Sam flail.

"Cut it out – foul!" he protested, wiggling around just enough to grab her around the neck and pull her down.

She choked, "Holy crap sheriff; you been practicing your half-nelson?"

She heard Stan clap his hands to make them stop, Sam still laughing even though she noticed that his cheeks were red with embarrassment too.

"All right, break it up you two!" her boss declared. "I call foul – Shannon, M."

"Come on Stan!" Mary articulated the classic objection, finally letting Sam get loose. "You didn't call foul when Demolition Dershowitz over here sent me flying in his slash to the basket!"

"A well-timed block," Stan mused, just daring her to snap. "Would you like me to appeal?" he turned to Eleanor.

"Like I'll have a chance," Mary grumbled unappreciatively.

"Gonna have to agree with the chief on this one," Eleanor claimed predictably, and Mary gave a loud huff of frustration.

Jesse aided her displeasure when he reminded her, "We're tied and they have twenty-three! Sam's gonna get the ball back and they'll win if he scores!"

They hadn't been doing foul shouts, not having a good spot to draw the line, and she knew Jesse was right. She wasn't going to let her little basketball-devotee get away without fighting the good fight, even if his competitive spirit didn't exactly match hers.

"Sounds like you're gonna be paying for that one, Shannon," Peter chimed in as his team took their positions.

"Tell your _father_ he's not good at the trash talk," Mary informed Jesse, who laughed again. And then she decided they needed to regroup if she was going to come out of this alive, "Hey chief! We call huddle before match point!"

"That's tennis, Mare," Marshall articulated.

"Shut it, doofus."

Without waiting for Stan's approval, she pulled Brandi, Jesse, and Ellie into a circle in an attempt to salvage the game. When she went in, she went in all the way – ridiculous, unimportant backyard shenanigan or not. It was worth it to her because she knew it was worth it to Jesse. She hadn't picked him for nothing.

"Any ideas troops?" Brandi asked before Mary could get started as they created dark, hunching shadows all scrunched together.

"Give it to Jesse!" Ellie suggested. "He can make it."

Mary wasn't sure that was true, but she had to admire the loyalty. It was worth a try at this point. At least Jesse would have the guts even if he didn't have the glory.

"All right…" Mary sighed. "I'll tackle whoever ends up with that pumpkin…"

"Is this football now?" Brandi teased, and Mary frowned.

"And I'll get it to you Jess – I don't care how you heave it; just heave it."

Her nephew nodded seriously as they broke formation and faced the group of four about ready to storm up the driveway. Mary was reminded forcefully of her adventurous afternoon playing kickball with Marshall's nieces and nephews, a rotund six months pregnant with Sam. She'd gotten all caught up in it then, and she was doing the same thing now. Something about seeing that glow on kids' faces did her in-in ways she never could've predicted.

It was Marshall who was bringing the ball up, and it couldn't have been more perfect. She could hassle him better than anybody. She strolled right up to him without even blinking, and he smirked, teams assembling behind them.

"Smooth moves, Poindexeter," she quipped casually, following the path his feet took on the pavement.

"Glad you finally noticed," he answered. "Took you twelve years."

"Damn shame," she kept on, making sure to block him at all costs.

"If you are trying to seduce me with your feminine wiles, it's not going to work," he claimed out of nowhere.

"Who said I was?"

Even though she absolutely was.

"You've got that look," he declared, pausing to bounce the ball a few times, recognizing the glint in her green eyes.

"Even if I told you I'm not wearing a belt…"

"_That's_ sexy."

"And I'm wearing that pair of sky blue…" she leaned in at just the right moment. "…What do you call that color…?" she hissed hoarsely. "_Periwinkle_…"

She could see the back of his neck turning red from where she perched in.

"…That I bought at that lewd shop when we had to go to Las Cruces a couple years ago…"

He well-remembered that trip. They'd lost power in a storm and Mary had stocked up on dirty magazines and other paraphernalia from a crappy shop around the corner from the hotel. They'd poked fun at the pictures for awhile before turning their attentions to more interesting activities.

"What was it I called you that night?" she stepped back, prattling in her normal voice now, grateful Sam was at the other end of the court.

She knew they couldn't have been stationary more than a few seconds, but she could've sworn time had slowed down while she played the game she played so well. Marshall was moving again, but not very gracefully. She was close.

"What _was_ it I called you?" she repeated, still following his every move. "Ride the stallion, cowboy."

He tried to pass so she wouldn't have the satisfaction, but she was too quick for him all hot-and-bothered. She flung out her huge drag-queen-like hands and snatched the ball clean out of the air.

"Ha!"

"Dad!" Sam moaned.

"Snooze you lose, smutty!"

"What?" Peter called.

But Mary had already whirled around, spotted Jesse, and chucked him the ball from the other end of the court. He fumbled it a little bit, but managed to hang on and immediately drove for the basket. His path was unusually clear because the others were so busy trying to figure out what had happened between Mary and Marshall. In seconds he was at the backboard and had paused, almost like he couldn't believe it had been so easy.

"Jesse, shoot!" Mary and Brandi shouted in unison.

He did as told, straight-up and perfect, right against the glass and sunk straight through the hoop.

It was Brandi who squealed in delight, followed quickly by Ellie and they mobbed him as Sam hung his head in defeat.

"You did it, baby!" Brandi declared as she squeezed her son, looking politely shell-shocked at having scored the winning goal.

Even the rest of the guys surrounded him in congratulations, good sports that they were, but Mary stayed where she was with Marshall. She smirked up at him, pleasantly surprised to see that his face was still rosy from all the fancy-talking she'd been doing.

"Dirty lingo spawned for good intentions," he mused, looking at her adoringly. "That's quite a skill, inspector."

"I should stick that one on my résumé," she quipped, and he chuckled.

Spontaneously, she stretched and kissed him full on the mouth for no good reason at all. She just loved him – something fierce and bursting and, packed to the limit, to the rafters above. His shadow was even longer than usual in the low-hanging sun.

She knew she'd been a little more edgy today than she usually was. First the week full of Jesse, and then James, followed by Jinx, and now…

He always knew, and his eyes showed it. She'd been trying to put it to bed, trying to forget it in every possible way but it was coming nearer and nearer. She'd already forced herself to lose one father this week.

"I think it's about time we started wrapping up," was his way of cluing her in to his thoughts. "I know Ellie's mom will be here soon."

That was a less-efficient way of saying more goodbyes were around the corner. It was a hollow, sinking feeling settling over her. She'd tried so hard to not let it swallow her up, but she had a feeling it was going to no matter what. How could she ignore it when it was what the party had been all about?

"Be good," Marshall whispered through the fast-approaching darkness. "I'm gonna start herding people out."

"Okay…" she murmured back, wanting to reach out and grab that long, lanky shadow to hold a piece of him with her.

It was fine. It was going to be fine. She was going to be fine.

But as she watched Eleanor, Delia, and Bobby D. wave in farewell and pile into their cars, Jinx and George return to the scene to say they were going home as well, she found she couldn't move her feet to have the talk she knew was coming down the pike. She could see him out of the corner of her eye. She could see him having that same talk with Marshall in the open doorway of the house. She tried to focus on Sam and Jesse slumped against the wall of the garage conversing with Brandi and Peter – Ellie's mother indeed having arrived to take her home.

And when she saw Marshall dispense with the discussion, she knew he was coming for her and she wasn't sure she was ready. She was never ready.

He approached her through the babble of discussion among their remaining guests, cat burglar and stealth-like.

"You're all right," he promised quietly. "Stan wants to say goodnight."

He didn't want to say goodnight. He wanted to say goodbye.

**A/N: Read okay? I don't do 'smut' well; that was the best I could manage for something 'sexy' between Mary and Marshall. Pretty sad, huh? LOL!**

**Anyway, only one more chapter to come before we wrap it up!**


	24. Chapter 24

**A/N: Our final chapter, friends! It's been great!**

XXX

Some internal force that didn't belong to her had Mary moving her feet to the space Marshall had occupied not long before. She swallowed and tried to remember to breathe. How could the winds have changed so quickly? Ten minutes ago she'd been fine. She was more skilled than she'd realized at blocking out situations she didn't want to deal with.

Stan was waiting and gesturing her into the house where it was cooler and there was more light.

She could do this. She could.

The sounds of the boys, Brandi, and Peter faded when she made it to the living room. She noticed Jinx had indeed tidied up in the kitchen. There were only two red velvet cupcakes remaining, stacked next to the cookie jar. She tried to focus on them, tried to see only those two domed treats; the rich crimson of their cake, the swirl of their sweet frosting.

"I should be getting on my way, inspector," Stan said.

Her eyes blurred as she found him standing in front of her. He looked only slightly uncomfortable, and more determined than anything. There was a heartrending, soft smile playing around his lips and his brown eyes were warm with affection. Mary felt as though she could melt into them, lose herself, and be just fine.

"You don't want to stay for coffee or something?" she spit out stupidly.

Was she _really_ asking him to hang on? Was she honestly doing that?

He was painfully understanding, "Nah, it'll just keep me up. I need to get going."

He wasn't _really_ going anywhere. She was being silly. Maybe he wouldn't be her chief anymore, sure, but he wasn't falling off the face of the planet or dying or walking out the door and never coming back. She could see him whenever she wanted.

But it wasn't the same. That resistance she felt to change was yanking, tugging hard and fast on her heartstrings and even as much as she tried she felt sure they were going to sever in two.

It was showing on her face and she hated that. But she knew it to be so because Stan softened his gaze even further and stepped into her circle.

"Do me a favor," he whispered. "Don't say anything. If it's of the smart-ass variety, even if it's not; this is all I need."

Mary wasn't sure what to say to that, but she was glad to have been offered the opportunity to stay silent. Even if she couldn't obey.

"What's 'this?'" she asked quietly. "What's…'all you need?'"

"I should've clarified," he admitted, shuffling his shoes on the hardwood. "_This_ is all I need…"

There was more preamble in it this time and Mary forced herself to wait. She would wait as long as she had to.

"I need you to know that I am _so_ proud of you kiddo."

There was a lump in her throat so big she was sure she was going to choke. She didn't want to cry, but she wasn't sure she could stop it. All of her resolve pooled into holding it together, at least until Stan left the room.

And she didn't want that moment to come.

"You are a devoted wife, a fantastic mom, and one…_hell_ of an inspector," she sensed the finality in his voice and wanted to tell him to keep going even as embarrassed as she was. "That's all I need you to know. You and Marshall are gonna be just fine."

Mary allowed the thought to invade that this was an interesting statement; she and Marshall always dealt with the perils of WITSEC with or without Stan, although they preferred with. It was the rest of their lives she was unsure about, and she wondered if that was what Stan was referring to.

"I don't know what to say…" she whispered, shaking her head and trying to come up with something, but her mind was jammed.

"Low and behold…" he was even closer now as he tried to tease and lighten the mood, but Mary's heart was thudding faster and faster. "I told you _not_ to. You followed a direct order."

He smiled and she tried to do the same but she seemed to have forgotten how. And when she saw his shorter figure spreading his arms, she had to step into them so he wouldn't see her shed the tears.

"It's about time," he finished, and then she was gone.

It was only a single drop that fell from her eye, but she'd already hugged him, quick and brief as Stan would thought she'd want, before she'd already been released and pulled the tears back in. It was probably best she hadn't hung on. She'd have fallen apart and that was best left for later when she was alone. Nobody needed to see that.

"You're a good girl," he said softly, which was exactly what Marshall had said the day before. "Don't forget that, all right?"

It was likely she would, but Mary nodded regardless, mostly as a means to keep herself from bawling.

"All right," she repeated.

"Okay," he said, and he reached up to pat her arm a few times. "I gotta get going."

No. Don't. Please don't.

She'd been trying so hard, trying so-so hard to accept all the change – to be strong and chin up as Jesse had done, as Sam had done when Marshall had been so severely injured. But she wasn't sure she could anymore and she needed this to stay the same. It had been such a constant and she couldn't stand to let it go.

"Mary…?" he wanted her attention.

He didn't have it. Stan rubbing her hair after she'd been abducted. Stroking the small of her back when Marshall had been shot the first time. And the countless times he'd stood by her the second time and every other, less important day he had put up with her antics, her disrespect, and her games.

"Hmm?" was all she managed.

And in spite of all that…

"You know I love you, sweetheart."

Now she needed him to go because she was going to spill over without warning if he didn't. She nodded vigorously, feeling the sting in her eyes and the tightness in her throat. Her cheeks were hot and she could've sworn she was stuck in a cage she felt so trapped.

"Mom?" called a familiar voice, striking her like a two-by-four and she jerked her head upward to see Sam with his head stuck in the doorway.

"Jinx and George are leaving; they want to say goodbye to Stan," he reported.

All Mary could do was nod, and Sam accepted this, disappearing once more. Stan himself threw her a pleading look, knowing she was done, knowing he was expected to move on so she could do whatever she had to by herself. The way she always wanted it.

"I…" she knew he needed to get going. "I…" her chest was so tight. "I mean…"

He was already on his way to the door and nearly there when she found at least a portion of the words – the best she could do.

"Me too."

Stan smiled and nodded his approval before she saw him slide out the door and vanish from view.

And just like that, she lost. The tears just poured from her eyes like someone had flipped the knob on the faucet – unattractive and full; waterfalls, cascades, rivers, and streams. She had to get out – it was in her blood to run when this sensation wended its way in. Although by herself regardless, she could still hear the chatter of the partygoers on the driveway and turned, striding on dirty feet into her bedroom.

She worked and she worked as she stood staring at the back wall to get herself together, to be all right with all the upheaval but some force inside her gained a sick pleasure from just letting it out. And she couldn't stop.

Out on the drive, Marshall couldn't help but notice the conspicuous absence of his wife and had a very shrewd idea what had become of her. Watching Stan shake hands with George and Jinx, even Brandi and Peter, he considered going in to check on her but knew he needed to play host a little bit longer.

Then he remembered how brilliantly the boys were growing up and threw caution to the winds.

"Guys…?" he turned to Sam and Jesse, but it was Sam to whom he spoke just out of habit. "Why don't you go inside and make sure mom's okay."

Sam looked a little nervous, but he wasn't stupid.

"But she won't want us to see…"

"I know," Marshall interrupted gently. "But I want you to check on her," he reinforced.

"Me too?" Jesse's reaction was certainly different; much more eager.

"Yes, you too," Marshall assured him. "Just do what you think is best; I'll be in-in a minute."

Sam wasn't sure what that would be, but knew this was important to his father and that he would be doing it himself if he could. Resigned, he gestured for Jesse to come along and his cousin followed, leaving the babble of the fast-declining party.

There was a hushed glow about the indoors as Sam nudged the door part-way shut and stood in the living room, staring at the backside of his mother in her bedroom. He knew she was crying and he still didn't do a good job equating that with Mary. He remembered a few times she'd been really upset while Marshall had been in the hospital and she'd cried but otherwise, she was so guarded with emotions. He was never sure what to say to her in such a rare state.

He recalled Jesse at his elbow and knew Marshall wouldn't want them to just stand there. Glancing at his cousin, he noticed he didn't look ill-at-ease in the least – just saddened by what he could ascertain going on beyond.

"You should go first," Sam suggested.

"Me?" Jesse was perplexed. "Why?"

"Because you're good at all that…stuff," he shrugged, unable to pin a label on it. "The hugs and everything. Way better than me."

As if Jesse could've been given better prompting. The idea that he was good at something – _anything_ – that Sam had said so, that it was something Sam was _not_ good at? Well, if that couldn't get him going nothing did.

Mary just stood there by herself, forcing herself to breathe, slow and steady out her mouth to get in control but it wasn't working. She knew she should just succumb, that she should give in because she'd always known how much she was going to miss Stan. It was so much all at once and she'd just feel better if she could let it go. If only she knew how.

It wasn't like when Marshall had been shot. It was such a perfectly good reason to cry and it had been so horrifying, she'd never thought twice about it. Tears just for the natural progression of time weren't worth it. Were they?

That was when she felt the soft, gentle touch on her belly. The oddest spot – not her back or her shoulder, because she'd been expecting Marshall. But this tiny sensation right below her ribcage and when she looked down to see where it came from, she saw the enormous green eyes that matched her own staring up at her with the utmost sympathy and kindness.

And she realized that Jesse was safe. She didn't need to save face in front of him. He understood emotion and weaknesses better than almost anyone else.

Without a word – because Stan was right; they just weren't needed – she kneeled and placed her arm around her nephew's back, pulling him in next to her. Side-by-side, temple-to-temple; this prompted her to turn and kiss the crown of his soft blonde hair.

And then she just cried. Not a mess, not out-of-control, just tears of embracing the change and having someone to hold in her arms along the way. She mourned the loss of that unquenchable thirst she'd always had to just hang on for one more minute. To just hang on.

Jesse was silent for a long time, never moving, never even initiating the full hug. They simply crouched end-to-end, still and soft.

"You'll miss Stan?" he finally whispered.

She nodded, which made her sniffle a couple times, but she rubbed his back to help herself stay curled just over the edge of the cliff.

"Am I helping?" he wanted to know.

She let out a shaky laugh, closing her eyes against the tears, and told him the truth.

"Yes," she promised. "You are."

And a second set of hands found her shoulder. When Mary turned to see their size and shape, she knew they belonged to Sam. And his warm pressure from above was the final piece that allowed her to float safely back to the ground. Not perfect, but all right. She was all right.

"I'm okay guys," she assured them. "I'm okay."

And Marshall stood in the doorway, watching his wife – a woman who had once claimed to have an aversion to touch, tears, and even children – allow herself to be enveloped, weeping softly, and being held by two of her favorite boys in the world.

While sadness such as this shouldn't bring him relief – it did. It did, because Mary had grabbed hold; pulled it in and made it her own. He was certain, without a shadow of a doubt, that doing so and not dwelling as she had on James would bring that closure she so desperately needed.

He watched her pat Jesse's back, stand and kiss Sam's hair before composing herself and turning around to see him standing there.

There was loss in the red rings around her eyes, but a tired and approving smile came with them as she let the boys escape and she stopped to kiss him for the second time that night.

"I'm really going to miss him," she whispered, but boldly.

"I am too," Marshall admitted. "But I've got you."

Mary nodded, "And I've got you too."

The roads had been long, but if the embraces and the tears were any indication, Marshall was pretty sure they'd made it.

**A/N: I hope there aren't too many people who are disappointed in the bittersweet ending, but it's kind of supposed to be a good thing – that Mary is embracing what causes her pain and learning to accept it so she can move on, instead of bottling everything up. Plus, we've got Jesse learning that he excels in an area where Sam might not, showing that everybody's good at something.**

**Thank-you so much for all the wonderful reviews; gotta do my big long list – usafcmycloud, jekkah, carajiggirl, JJ2008, Jayne_Leigh, henrylover94, cool cat, BrittanyLS, JMS529, jasonlover21, and Caia. My numbers have gone down a little since my last story, but I am grateful to anyone reading whether you're reviewing or not. I don't fancy myself some brilliant writer, so it's nice that anybody's taking the time. But the part of me that craves feedback hope you'll send me out in style with this last chapter! ;)**

**Although I said with "My Way Home" that I would be done, that was obviously not true since I created Jesse's tale, and I may have ONE more up my sleeve before Sam and the gang are put to bed. Not for another future, but to fill in key or select moments we missed in Sam's years that there wasn't a story. A collection of one-shots may be in the works to pull it all together before I finally have to let these characters sail into the sunset and start anew.**

**Thanks again for reading! XOXO**


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